


Beyond the Barricade

by MissJEDoe



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Help, Hurt, Intimacy, M/M, Multi, Recovery, Support, alone time, kinda forbidden love ish, mention of self harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-09 20:48:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5554796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissJEDoe/pseuds/MissJEDoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Impossibly, they've survived the barricade. Here is a few days following Enjolras as he tries to make sense of the new world in which nothing has changed and all thought of rebellion has faded. M in the last two chapters, some T/T in the ones preceding. ExR; Courferre.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beyond the Barricade

He woke very suddenly but was only vaguely aware of it. He could feel his breathing and it hurt, like each of his ribs had been bruised to breaking point. He was aware of his own heartbeat and that terrified him because there was no way he'd got out of that alive.

"Where are they?" He tried to say, but his throat was hoarse and he nearly choked. There was a noise beside him and some liquid was pressed to his lips. He sipped and remembered, blinking at the light of the room. "Where is he?"

"Don't talk," A rough but kind voice said, making him jump. He did not know this man. "You've had a blow to the head. I wasn't sure you'd ever wake up. They're all okay and you mustn't think about them - only of yourself and of getting better."

"Who are you?" He croaked, taking the beaker himself and sipping at the weak wine. He could see the man now - old, with snow hair and lined skin.

"A - A volunteer," He muttered, getting to his feet. Enjolras realised now that he was in a bed in a tiny room. "Rest. Someone will check on you soon but you must get better."

"Wait, Monsieur!" He tried to sit up. He had to know. "When you say they -"

"I mean your friends."

"And - and you do mean all?"

The volunteer sighed and tapped his fingers against the door frame. "I do. I will explain when you are well - for now, rest." And, with that, he left.

Enjolras had never been very good at doing what he was told.

He sipped away the rest of the wine, hating what it made him think of but needing it if he was going to work out what had happened and where he was. He made himself sit and fought against the dizziness until it passed.

What had happened? He had to think very carefully through the pounding fog filling his head. They had been at the barricade -

His own words echoed back to him and he felt the first wave of panic crashing onto him. They'd been abandoned. He'd told them all to go -

Jean Prouvaire was dead.

His shoulders dropped and he felt the breath abandon his chest. That gentle man had died for a cause which he himself could not.

The volunteer had lied. Not all of his friends lived.

He thought past the first grief to the events following Jean Prouvaire's execution. The man Marius had proved to be useful and passionate about something other than his own life - he, too, was probably dead.

How would he volunteer have known which of the men at the barricade were his friends? He could not feel bitterness towards the old man - he'd filled him with hopeless hope but hadn't known at the time. When he came back, Enjolras would have to explain the situation to him. Make him describe each of the survivors or, even better, take him to them.

He was quite sure he'd seen Combeferre killed or, even worse, captured. They had all been so spread apart it was impossible to see details - and his memory was hazy and kept confusing faces.

The beaker was drained but he searched for more wine anyway. His throat felt as if someone had taken a knife to it.

He remembered seeing Joly and Bossuet but, again, had no idea whether they'd been alive or dead.

He had to find out.

Carefully, he threw his legs from the bed and pushed himself so he was standing. The room span but he took several deep breaths and found enough strength to guide himself from the room, leaning heavily against the wall.

He was in a church or monastery. He could hear the distant sounds of mass and bells and frowned, wondering what they possibly could be praying for. The swift recovery of his friends - if any of them did indeed still live? He couldn't imagine this being likely.

He crept down a corridor past many rooms like his own. After opening the first few and finding them completely empty he lost hope of miraculously finding his friends there and headed straight for outdoors - away from the sounds of life.

Footsteps behind him.

"En - Enjolras?'

A familiar and impossible voice. Enjolras span,  making himself dizzy.

There, rather pale and with bruises across his face but, otherwise alive, stood Jean Prouvaire.

"A ghost,"Enjolras mused out loud, stumbling towards the man. He was grinning.

"Not dead," He said softly, holding out his hands. Uncharacteristically, Enjolras took them. "Enjolras, you should be in bed."

He shook his head and regretted it. "Who - where is everyone?"

Jean Prouvaire frowned. "Come and sit down, at least."

"I can not rest. I need to know what's happened, Prouvaire."

"Fine," He sighed, supporting his friend and guiding him in the direction he'd already been heading. "I'll tell you as we walk but please, take it easy. What did Valjean tell you?"

"Who?"

"Valjean - Cosette's Papa."

"Who's Cosette?"

            Jean Prouvaire sighed. “Oh, Enjolras. Marius’s bien-aimé – his amoureux.”

            He thought carefully. “The girl?”

            “Yes, Enjolras.”

            “What has she to do with anything?”

            He sighed again. “Her papa came to find Marius to take him from the barricade to marry Cosette. It’s thanks to him that we all live.”

            “All?”

            “All, Enjolras.”

            He swallowed around something and felt the world swim. It was impossible. There had been so much blood – so much gun smoke.

            “Tell me, Prouvaire,” he said weakly, still walking at a painfully slow pace. He realised that he was leaning heavily on his friend but still refused to return to his room.

            “First, the man rescued me. They were to execute me for being with you but he fought for my life and freed me. I told him that we had to go back and save you all – you couldn’t die thinking I was dead and I couldn’t live knowing you’d died thinking I was dead. So we doubled back and he joined you as a volunteer –”

            “I remember.”

            “He sent me away. I told him to take everyone – to save you all. He promised to do his best. I knew his priority was Marius – I told him any life saved on top of that would be a blessing. He secretly rallied everyone who looked big enough to drag you away and, when it looked like you were all about to die, smuggled you away from the barricade.”

            “I saw – I thought I saw Joly –”

            “Shot. They’ve fixed him mostly, though.”

            “Bossuet?”

            “Shot but the shrapnel got him worse. He will recover.”

            “Combeferre?”

            “Shot. He may yet lose a leg.”

            “What?”

            “If it – the wound – becomes dangerous to him.”

            Enjolras was grey and stopped walking to lean against a wall. “Courfeyrac?”

            “Fine. Knocked out, but fine.”

            “Where is he?”

            “With Combeferre.”

            “Of course.”

            “Feuilly, Bahorel and Marius are all recovering slowly. They were injured the worst.”

            Enjolras nodded and asked what he’d barely dared to think about. “And Grantaire?”

            Jean Prouvaire, fond of the drunk, answered as favourably as he could. “Avoided the bloodshed – in the most part. He was the last to be taken away.”

            “How so?”

            “He was asleep, you remember? But he blundered into the National Guard – thought we were all dead. Told them he was one of us.”

            “The fool.”

            “He thought to die with us.”

            “He thought to let us die and chase after us.”

            “Enjolras – ”

            “So, they killed him?”

            Jean Prouvaire hesitated. “They would have. You remember Eponine?”

            “Who?”

            “The – Marius’s friend who died on the barricade.”

            “The lad?”

            “… Yes. Her friend, a terrifying brute called Montparnasse, saw Grantaire and recognised him. He freed him.”

            “Where is he now?”

            “Grantaire or Montparnasse?”

            “Grantaire.”

            “I don’t know. They brought him here for a moment. Told him we were all alive. He – he left.”

            “Did he say anything?”

            Jean Prouvaire was not comfortable with this. “Only – only that he’d said so and that he hoped we’d find something else to fight for. And then he left.”

            Enjolras frowned and found that he could support himself again. “You don’t know where?”

            “I could guess.”

            “Then guess.”

            “The Musain.”

            “Then that is where I shall go,” Enjolras muttered, raising his hand to gingerly touch the bandage across his brow. “Prouvaire, tell them that I am grateful. I will be back at some point – I hope Combeferre’s leg is good. I’ll be back soon.”

            “You’re going to find him?”

            “I do not understand him.”

            “No one understands him, Enjolras – ”

            “I must try. Thank you for your friendship, Prouvaire,” he took his hand and gave it a quick squeeze before dropping it, as if only just realising that it was burning his skin. “Your life is a gift to me.”

            “Enjolras, you really should rest – ”

            “Later.” He waved over his shoulder and left, walking as quickly and boldly as his body could manage. Jean Prouvaire watched him go, sighed, and turned to walk in the opposite direction. He knew better than to try to reason with the young man in red.

            ***

The barricade had already been cleared away, like it was nothing more than a child’s toy, but blood still lined the gutters. Enjolras tried to not think about it splashing against his shoes but thoughts were impossible to ignore and they crowded him. Under the watch of the sign outside the Musain, he leaned against a filthy wall and was thankful for the quiet of the street.

            His vision disappeared and the next he knew he was gripping his knees, staring at the bloodied ground through spots that flashed across his eyes. The blood seemed to boil and reach for him and he coughed, heaving up the wine from his otherwise empty stomach. It burned his throat and made his mouth feel like it had been flayed and did nothing to stop the thundering in his head.

            Maybe this had been a bad idea.

            The air was as clear as a normal summer’s day but, to Enjolras, still stank heavily with the smells of gunpowder and desperate men He could smell burning flesh and smoking bullets and the sheer panic –

            He coughed again but came up dry, his breathing rasping through his lungs and throat. He had to get a grip. Raising his eyes again, he could see the sign of the Musain and the window into the room he and his friends had so often sat in.

            This was not the conclusion he’d expected.

            He stumbled forward again on shaking knees, barely breathing. He could smell the blood.

            Inside the Musain was a completely different world. The owners had quickly patched up the damage done by the fighting and had made it somewhat presentable. Still, there was an eerie silence to the place. He climbed the creaking stairs carefully, minding the missing steps, and reached the familiar room.

            It should have had tables and chairs filling the whole floor. These had all been thrown onto the barricade and only a few chairs had been salvaged – one of which had been pulled towards the front window and claimed by a man who Enjolras knew too well and hardly at all.

            “I knew you were incapable of dying,” he said, voice a lot hoarser than he’d expected.

            The man turned suddenly to look at him, gripping to the back of the chair with the hand that wasn’t clasped around a bottle. Grantaire’s eyes grew and grew and, for a moment, he thought maybe he had died.

            “It’s the leader in red back to try again,” he muttered, turning his whole body to face Enjolras. “Why are you here?”

            “To find you.”

            “Why?”

            “To – To prove to myself that you didn’t die for something you didn’t believe in,” Enjolras heard himself mutter, taking a chair and sitting near the opposite wall. Grantaire frowned at him.

            “I do believe in it.”

            “I saw Jean Prouvaire,” Enjolras sighed, not sure why he was back in this place. The floorboards squeaked with the echoes of their many conversations. “No one died.”

            “I know.”

            Silence.

            “What are you to do now, Enjolras?” Grantaire asked, impossibly softly. His head was spinning – the beautiful man looked so forlorn and defeated that maybe it would have been better if they had all died. The bandage around his head barely hid the gash across his forehead.

            He didn’t answer for a long time. And then he sighed and lifted his eyes to look at the man who, despite everything, was still there.

            “Drink,” he muttered, frowning deeply and accepting the bottle when it was handed to him. “Tell me everything you know.”

            “I know nothing,” Grantaire laughed, resting his head in one of his palms. “I know nothing but love and drink and despair.”

            “Then tell me of despair. Tell me of this place and what we dreamed of and what we’ve been handed.”

            Grantaire sighed and, when he spoke, he felt like he’d never had a more important conversation in his life. “This place was doomed,” he whispered. “You all cared for the people but the people did not care for you. You were on your own – you always were. I had hoped to die with you all.” This made Enjolras’s stomach jump again and he struggled to keep this new wine down. “But fate refused me. It refused you all and we are here now to continue with our sorry lives as if this past week had never happened.”

            “What am I to do, Grantaire?” Enjolras whispered, giving him the bottle back. It was considerably lighter than when he’d received it. “The last few years for me have led to this. I never planned on continuing – not in a world so unchanged.”

            “You still have chance to change it, if that’s what you wish.”

            “What do you mean, if?”

            “If you still think it’s worth your friends’ lives,” Grantaire muttered, drinking again. “Is it?”

            “I – I do not know,” Enjolras moved his chair a little closer. “Grantaire, I’m asking you to help me.”

            “With what?”

            “I am lost.”

            “You are asking for directions from a blind man.”

            “Better to have a blind friend than no friend,” Enjolras whispered, hoping very much that, despite everything, he could count this man as his friend. He didn’t answer straight away; he stared down at the floor and drank again.

            “In that case,” Grantaire whispered, “Let this blind friend take you for a walk. I have had enough of this place. It stinks of failure and reminds me of myself.”

            “You are not a failure, Grantaire,” Enjolras sighed, getting unsteadily to his feet. “Despite what I’ve said to you.”

            “I’m hardly a success, mon ami,” Grantaire muttered and walked slowly ahead of Enjolras. At the foot of the stairs he swapped his bottle for a full one – no one seemed to be watching the stock. “How is Combeferre?”

            “I do not know,” Enjolras sighed, trailing after him. “Prouvaire said he will live.”

            “Good.”

            “But he may lose his leg.”

            “I thought so,” Grantaire sighed and considered the blood at his feet. “There is no way of knowing whose this is,” he mused. “It could be yours and it could be mine – it could be the traitor, Javert’s, or it could be the King’s. How peculiar the methods of the world are.”

            “It could not be the King’s,” Enjolras muttered. “He would not bleed for the citizens of Paris.”

            “There,” Grantaire, impossibly, laughed. It was a sound that filled the street and bounced from the walls. “You sound like yourself again. Are you to shout at me now?”

            “What?”

            “When you are truly the Enjolras I know and admire,” he said, still chuckling, “You will call me base and shout at me.”

            “Grantaire, I –”

            “It’s fine,” he said with a wave of his hand. “I understand you then. And I will know that you’re well. I’d ask if you’d taken a blow to your head, but,” he nodded at the bandage, “That much is clear.”

            “I don’t know how that happened,” Enjolras muttered. “I barely remember any of it.”

            “I find it’s best to not remember many things.”

            “I may try your philosophy.”

            “It is a good one,” Grantaire laughed again but it was less free. “Drink and forget, but never forget to drink. Or to make time to laugh with your friends.”

            It hit Enjolras quite suddenly and he bit his lip, not wishing to cry in front of this man. “I nearly got them all killed.”

            “No.”

            “It was me who started this – me who brought them to this wretched place. They would have died.”

            “It was their choice.”

            “Are you saying you would not blame me if Joly had been killed?”

            “No. I’m saying I would not blame you because I, too, would be dead.”

            “Grantaire, I’m being serious.”

            “As am I.”

            Enjolras stopped them walking and wobbled worryingly. Grantaire nearly reached for him.

            “Grantaire, how am I to face them all when it’s my fault?”

            “They won’t blame you.”

            “If Combeferre – ”

            “He was as bad for this as you,” Grantaire said with a reassuring chuckle. “He would have got himself into this situation without your help.”

            “You – you were captured,” Enjolras muttered, squinting at the horrible marks across this man’s face and hands. “What happened?”

            Grantaire frowned. He didn’t want to talk about this. “The fighting had come to an end and it was quiet. I assumed you were dead. I stumbled into the soldiers, told them who and what I was and awaited death.”

            “But Montparnasse saved you?”

            “I’m not sure if ‘saved’ is how I would describe it,” he sighed, folding his arms across his chest. “But he stopped them from killing me.”

            “What did you tell them you are?”

            “A man who believes in freedom for the citizens of the world,” Grantaire sighed. “One of the revolutionaries. One of the men who was trying to change the world.”

            “But you don’t.”

            “I do,” He sighed loudly and started walking again. “You believed in it and I believe in you. That’s all I needed.”

            “You were prepared to die for us?”

            “With you, yes.”

            “But, Grantaire, you slept when we needed you.”

            He glared at the floor. “I know. I will not forgive myself for that. I should have been with you.”

            “You should,” Enjolras agreed, not sure what he was saying. “I would have appreciated the company.”

            “Be serious, Enjolras.”

            “I am.”

            “Don’t tease me like that. I know you dislike me and you know I adore you.”

            He sighed sharply. “You can’t adore me,” Enjolras growled. “I am almost as flawed as this country.”

            “You love your country. By that logic I should love you.”

            “My love for my country nearly got all of your friends killed,” Enjolras snapped. “For a place where no one cares.”

            “Enjolras, stop,” Grantaire sighed, stopping walking again. He was trying to guide him back to the monastery. “You are determined to always be right. Admit that, sometimes, you make mistakes,” Grantaire kept his arms very firmly crossed. “And, in this case, you mistake me.”

            “I do not comprehend you.”

            “Don’t try,” Grantaire shrugged and started walking again. “Not everything makes sense.”

            Enjolras tried to keep up with him. “I need you to be a friend to me, Grantaire.”

            “I always was.”

            “Was?”

            “Am. Will be. Anything you wish, I’ll do it.”

            “Help me fix what I’ve done wrong,” Enjolras whispered, wanting to reach for him to make him stop. “Help me make it up to our friends.”

            “Of course,” Grantaire sighed. “That may be the easiest thing anyone’s asked of me.”

            “What?”

            “You have nothing to fix. They love you and always will. They would follow you to death as easily as breathing.”

            “I don’t want them to,” Enjolras muttered He realised where they were going and he was not pleased. “I want you all to rebuild your lives and start again somewhere.”

            “Well,” Grantaire said slowly, “I think somewhere is certain. It will have to be away from here. We are too known. But it will have to be somewhere we can all go.”

            “Why’s that?”

            “We’re a family. You think you could pull me away from Bossuet – or him away from Joly – or Joly away from Prouvaire – or Prouvaire away from Feuilly – or Feuilly away from Courfeyrac – or Courfeyrac away from Combeferre and from you?”

            “When you say it like that,” Enjolras muttered, “I suppose we are all linked.”

            “Even more so now you have all fought together.”

            “I don’t deserve to be involved in your happiness.”

            “Enjolras, you do not know us – or me,” Grantaire laughed again. “My happiness is you.”

            “I never understood you, Grantaire,” Enjolras muttered, walking quickly away from the street that would take them to the Monastery. He needed to be outside – for a while longer, anyway. “Sit with me; I cannot walk anymore.”

            “Are you sure you should be walking at all?” Grantaire asked, letting him take his arm as they picked their way towards a tall wall. It had sheltered the floor there from the rain and, importantly, it was free of blood.

            “No,” Enjolras sighed, sitting heavily and closing his eyes. Everything swam rather alarmingly and he breathed through his teeth. “But I couldn’t sit. I needed to know where you all were.”

            “Did you see anyone except Prouvaire?”

            “No,” He shook his head and regretted it, suddenly clasping Grantaire’s arm for some support against the nausea that was boiling in him. He just about managed to steady himself.

            “Enjolras, are you ill?”

            “It’s just my head,” he muttered, peeling his eyes open and seeing Grantaire was drinking again. “It’s throbbing.”

            “It’s all those ideas trying to get out,” Grantaire muttered, watching the sky as it started to rain again. It was a soft summer rain and he didn’t mind it one bit. “Occupational hazard.”

            “I think,” Enjolras muttered, raising a tentative hand to touch the bandage again, “It’s more physical than that.”

            “The way to avoid that is to do nothing physical except to exist.”

            “What sort of life would that be?”

            “One without the sort of pain you’re feeling now,” Grantaire pointed out, gesturing with the bottle. Enjolras’s hand was still clasped around his arm. “It does, however, come with other pains.”

            “What pains could you feel?” Enjolras muttered, turning his face to the sky and hoping some drops would cool him. “You feel nothing for anyone.”

            Grantaire sighed and drank again, wondering how he could possibly say these things. “It’s not that I don’t feel,” he said slowly, “It is that I feel too much. I feel so much that to face a world without my friend was inconceivable. And I could never care as you do so I made sure I only cared about you.”

            Enjolras, surprisingly, just said, “I don’t want to argue this. Today I am glad you live.”

            “Thank you,” Grantaire whispered, not sure if that was meant as a positive or a negative but very aware of the ice it had put into his chest. Enjolras still had his hand around his arm and it was beginning to hurt.

            They sat in silence for a while. The floor was uncomfortable but nothing Grantaire wasn’t used to so he tolerated it wordlessly, just waiting for Enjolras to speak again.

            “I can’t see them,” Enjolras said eventually, making Grantaire look up and frown.

            “Who?”

            “Combeferre – Courfeyrac – Feuilly – ”

            “Why not?”

            “Because I nearly killed them all.”

            Grantaire sighed. “No, you didn’t. The national guard did.”

            “Because I told them to die for something that, ultimately, was not worth their blood.”

            “They chose to fight with you for something you all care about.”

            Enjolras bit his lower lip. “They didn’t know. They didn’t expect this – none of us did. It’s not the ending we hoped or feared.”

            “But is it an ending?”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Won’t you try again when you’re all better?”

            “No,” Enjolras spoke sharply. “I might but that’s my choice because I know nothing else. I will not make – let them do this to themselves again. The world needs men like Combeferre alive.”

            “I’m glad you said most of that,” Grantaire sighed. “Except that you might do this again.”

            “Grantaire – ”

            “And that you think you’d do it without everyone.”

            “I could never bring any of them back to a place like this,” Enjolras snapped, not sure what Grantaire was implying. “I could never – I’m responsible for the pain they’re in now, don’t you think that’s enough for me?”

            “Enjolras, be calm. If Combeferre decided he wanted to try again, do you think you could stop him?”

            Enjolras’s jaw jumped. “No.”

            “That’s all I’m saying,” Grantaire muttered, wishing they could get up and leave. He was unused to having so much time alone with Enjolras and he didn’t know what else to say.

            Enjolras whispered after a few minutes and made Grantaire’s skin glow warm. “Thank you, Grantaire. I haven’t appreciated you before today.”

            Grantaire felt himself smile and drank instead of responding, not sure that he could trust his words.

            “Let’s go back,” Enjolras sighed, finally releasing his arm to push against the floor and wall in an attempt to get to his feet. It was too much; he turned very pale and, if Grantaire hadn’t moved quickly to stand and put his arms around him he would have hit the floor.

            “Enjolras?”

            “Thank you,” he gasped, leaning very heavily into him. Grantaire looked around but he couldn’t see that anyone was watching. “My head – everything went black.”

            “We really need to get you back to the monastery,” Grantaire sighed, holding onto him for as long as he dared. He seemed impossibly real and thin in his arms. “Enjolras, you can’t stay like this.”

            Wordlessly, Enjolras supported himself and stepped away from Grantaire. He staggered and one hand went to his head to press against the gash, hoping to dull the pain.

            Grantaire couldn’t watch this.

            Ignoring everything that anyone seeing them might think, he abandoned the bottle and put one arm around Enjolras’s waist to support him. Impossibly, Enjolras breathed another thanks and put his arm around Grantaire’s shoulders.

            The man in red was slightly taller than Grantaire but with, his body weak like this, he seemed shorter. He was younger, too – and still full of boyish hope. Maybe the events of the last two days had changed that.

            They didn’t speak as they walked back to the monastery. Enjolras was using all of his strength to keep moving and Grantaire didn’t know what else to say. He supposed he shouldn’t waste a moment like this – one where Enjolras was relying on him and not shouting at him – but all he could think was what people would think if they saw them.

            And that was a completely new thing for him. Before that moment, Grantaire hadn’t cared for the opinions of anyone – except Enjolras.

            They reached the building after a walk which seemed to have taken them hours and were met by a woman – a volunteer from the neighbouring houses who often helped the sisters of the monastery when they had patients. She scolded them both, told Enjolras it served him right for having gone against what he was told, and led them through a series of doors and corridors to the room Enjolras had woken up in.

            Grantaire helped him down onto the bed and stood up, noticing the sheen of sweat across his forehead, under the bandage, before turning and starting to leave.

            “Don’t you leave me,” Enjolras muttered, looking a lot stronger now he wasn’t using his energy to stand. “Grantaire, I will go mad if I have to lie in here on my own.”

            He looked at the woman.

            “Suit yourselves – I have more gracious patients to attend.”

            So she left, leaving them alone. Grantaire felt his stomach tighten and he really wished there was someone else there – someone Enjolras liked.

            “Stay,” Enjolras whispered, turning onto his side and facing him. “Please, stay with me.”

            “I’ll stay,” Grantaire sighed, finding the chair from the corner and sitting on it in the middle of the small room. “I don’t know why you’d want me, though.”

            “For a start,” Enjolras muttered, getting comfortable and gazing up at him softer than he’d ever looked at him before, “I like you. Plus I need the company. Otherwise I’m just going to fall asleep.”

            “I think that’s maybe the idea,” Grantaire whispered, not letting himself believe that Enjolras liked him. Tolerated, yes. But never liked. “You should be resting, Enjolras.”

            “I can’t. I have too much to think about.”

            “You need sleep.”

            “I need you to talk to me,” Enjolras muttered. “So I stop thinking about how I nearly got you killed.”

            “You didn’t,” Grantaire sighed, folding his arms across his chest again. “My death is my own business and will be my own responsibility. When I die it will be because I choose it.”

            “You can’t choose death,” Enjolras mumbled.

            “Anyone can choose death.”

            “No, you can’t choose death. Not now everyone survived – survived me,” Enjolras frowned. “After all of this you can’t choose death.”

            Grantaire felt his skin glow bright red and then drain to a colour similar to that of the walls of the small room. He nodded dumbly, hanging his head and finding it impossible to look at Enjolras.

            He noticed.

            “What is it?”

            He shook his head and tried to look like he usually did – but he couldn’t remember what that was. He didn’t have an expression for Enjolras being nice to him.

            “Grantaire?” He propped himself up on his elbow and studied Grantaire. The man was haggard, as always – his shirt bloodstained and filthy around the cuffs and across the shoulders where it showed from under his waistcoat. He supposed this blood was from the marks around his face but this didn’t explain  how he’d reacted – or why his arms were now so firmly crossed over his chest. Enjolras sat up, scarcely daring to believe this. “Grantaire, what is it?”

            “Nothing for you to worry about,” he said softly, pulling out a smile. “Lie back down, Enjolras.”

            Instead, he sat up. “Show me your arms, Grantaire.”

            “Why? You’ve seen them before. They’re nothing much – just tools for sustaining my life.”

            “Grantaire, you know why,” Enjolras whispered, casting an eye over to the door. It was  open. “Shut it.”

            Wordlessly, Grantaire got up and shut the door. He considered leaving but he couldn’t do that – he couldn’t leave Enjolras when he was finally asking for his company. So he returned to his seat, doing his best to keep his expression neutral.

            “Grantaire, show me your arms.”

            “You know I’d do anything for you,” Grantaire sighed, using his left hand to undo the buttons along the right cuff. “Whatever you think of me.”

            Enjolras just watched, not sure what he was hoping to see and not sure how to react to what he knew he was going to see. Grantaire pushed the sleeve back and showed his skin – pale and crossed with still glistening red lines that looked awfully like scratches.

            Before Enjolras could speak he was undoing the other sleeve and showing that arm, too. It wore a similar pattern.

            Enjolras had never seen anything so desperate.

            “Grantaire,” he whispered, throwing his eyes towards the door before carefully taking his left hand. He pulled it towards him, stretching out the arm so the dried blood shone in the soft light coming in through the window above their heads. “Grantaire, you must not die.”

            “We were all going to die for you,” he muttered, wanting to pull his hand back but desperate for the contact of Enjolras’s skin. “It doesn’t upset me.”

            “It should,” Enojlras sighed. “Grantaire, don’t hurt.”

            “Every breath hurts.”

            “You – you cannot be serious. Don’t joke about this, Grantaire –”

            “Life is a joke; death is not.”

            “Grantaire, be serious with me. Do you wish to die?”

            Grantaire looked down at him and swallowed tightly. And shook his head. “Not in this moment.”

            “Why? How can I help you?” Enjolras asked, eyes eager with the prospect of a new project. Something else to dedicate himself to. Grantaire just sighed.

            “I’m not something for you to fix, Enjolras.”

            “But you’re my friend.”

            “Y- Yes,” Grantaire stuttered, surprised. “Yes, I’m your friend.”

            “Then let me help you,” Enjolras said, staring at him with the intensity that was usually reserved for their arguments. “Talk to me about it.”

            “I don’t want to talk about my weaknesses,” Grantaire said, maybe a little coolly. “I don’t need you to pity me.”

            “I don’t want to pity you,” Enjolras snapped, dropping his hand as if only just realising he was holding it. “I want you to know that I value your life.”

            “Thank you.”

            “I mean it, Grantaire.”

            “I know,” he closed his eyes and nodded, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped.”

            “It’s okay,” Enjolras sighed and lay back down, staring at Grantaire’s hands. “I shouldn’t have made you show me.”

            Grantaire chewed his lip and leaned back in the chair, looking down at him. “We’ve never been good at talking to each other.”

            “No,” Enjolras sighed, closing his eyes for a moment and finding that they were extremely heavy. “I’m sorry about that.”

            “So am I.” Grantaire stayed quiet and just watched him. After a few minutes, he pushed his sleeves down and hid the horrid marks. A few minutes more and he realised Enjolras had fallen asleep. He didn’t know if he ought to leave or not.

            Fortunately, the door opened and Enjolras’s eyes snapped open. Grantaire’s name had fallen from his lips before he’d had chance to realise he was still sitting in the chair.

            “They told me you were back,” Jean Prouvaire whispered, edging into the room. “Am I interrupting something?”

            “No,” Grantaire said quickly. “Enjolras was sleeping.”

            “Sorry, I’ll let you sleep -”

            “No, stay!”

            “I have other people to check on as well, you know,” Prouvaire winked at Enjolras but shared a loaded look with Grantaire – who just shrugged. “You’re both okay?”

            “Yes, thank you,” Grantaire said, cheeks glowing. “We’re okay.”

            “No arguing?”

            “Prouvaire – ”

            “No,” Enjolras smiled, missing the glances between Grantaire and their friend. “I’m grateful for his company.”

            Again, Grantaire’s cheeks flamed and Jean Prouvaire saw. Sighing, he ducked back out of the door.

            “I’ll be back in a while. Rest, Enjolras.”

            With that, he was gone.

            Enjolras looked up at Grantaire and swallowed tightly. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I thought you were leaving.”

            “Not if you don’t want me to,” Grantaire sighed, giving him a slow smile. “I’ll sit and wait for you to get better.”

            “I’m sorry. It can’t be very interesting – ”

            “All I’ll do if I leave is drink,” Grantaire pointed out. “And I probably shouldn’t.”

            “No, you shouldn’t,” Enjolras muttered, closing his eyes again. The sleep was helping. “Don’t leave, Grantaire.”

            “They’ll have to drag me from here screaming.”

            Enjolras smiled at this but Grantaire was being completely serious – and just watched him a little sadly as he fell back asleep. The bandage was doing strange things to his usually wild hair but one golden lock had managed to fall across his eyes and Grantaire wanted desperately to brush it back into place.

            Even in pain, Enjolras was a beautiful man. Grantaire had struggled with the acute awareness of this for some time. Jean Prouvaire knew. Joly knew. Bossuet knew. He was sure Feuilly knew – maybe even Courfeyrac and Combeferre knew. Everyone seemed to know how deeply he relied on seeing Enjolras for his happiness.

            Everyone except Enjolras.

            He wouldn’t have shown his arms for anyone else. Joly, perhaps. But no one else – he couldn’t bare his soul so vividly to anyone less important to him.

            He just watched Enjolras as he slept – watching the subtle movements of his eyes and lips and wondering if he would wake up if he just moved that curl back to where it should be.

            His hand jumped out in front of him and he hesitated.

            But then, holding his breath, he let his trembling fingertips touch the hair – not the porcelain skin – and guide it to where it more naturally lay. Enjolras was completely oblivious; Grantaire had never been more aware of anything in his life. His whole hand was shaking when he brought it back to his chest and he stared at the gold, marvelling at how it caught and reflected all of the light in the room.

            *

            At some point, Jean Prouvaire visited them again. It didn’t wake Enjolras this time and he didn’t stay – just checked Grantaire was okay and reminded him that he could go and find food whenever he liked. “No thank you,” Grantaire had sighed. “I promised him I’d stay.”

            Prouvaire gave him another loaded look and left.

            Enjolras woke a while later, feeling much better and much more himself. The first thing he saw when his eyes focussed on the dim room was Grantaire – and it made him smile.

            “Did you stay?” He croaked, mouth and throat dry. Grantaire nodded. “Thank you.”

            “I could hardly leave,” Grantaire whispered. “How are you feeling?”

            “Like I need to move,” Enjolras muttered, coughing and sitting up. His head was more stable now. “Will you come with me?”

            “To wherever.”

            “I just need to walk,” Enjolras sighed, pushing himself slowly to his feet. He stumbled and Grantaire caught him again – this time without thinking about it or the implications. “Thank you.”

            “Always welcome,” Grantaire heard himself whisper, watching Enjolras’s expression become determined as he stepped out towards the door. He had no idea where they were going to walk to but he would follow – even if they walked for days and days.

            But they seemed to leave the room at exactly the right time. There were people standing in a cluster few steps down the corridor from them and, upon seeing Enjolras, their voices filled the room.

            “Enjolras!”

            “You’re okay!”

            “You are okay, aren’t you?”

            Joly, Bossuet and Feuilly were there, rushing towards their friend as quickly as they could. And then Grantaire left the room and there was a pause.

            “Grantaire, I thought you’d left us!” Joly said first, rushing past Enjolras as fast as his cane would allow to clasp one of Grantaire’s hands. It was a familiar touch but not as lovely as Enjolras’s. “What were you two doing sitting away from us all for so long?”

            Grantaire blushed and looked down. Fortunately, Enjolras answered and didn’t seem to notice.

            “I left this morning and found him. He brought me back and has been watching me sleep these past hours.”

            Joly pulled a face and put his hand softly on the small of Grantaire’s back. “That’s very generous of him.”

            “Watching people sleep takes a lot of patience,” Lesge pointed out, starting to walk.

            “I know,” Enjolras sighed, feeling a lot more like normal now their friends were around them again. “I appreciate it, Grantaire.”

            “As I said,” Grantaire muttered, trailing behind now he wasn’t necessary. “You’re always welcome to my company.”

            “Oh, Grantaire,” Joly whispered, walking with him behind the other three. He spoke softly so the others couldn’t hear. “What happened?”

            “He found me at the Musain. Spoke to me like I was a man, not a rat. We talked and talked and walked and he had to sit down and nearly fell – he took my arm. He kept my arm until we walked again and I had to use it to support him.”

            “Grantaire,” Joly sighed, putting his arm very momentarily around his friend’s waist. “Be careful, mon ami.”

            “I know to be careful,” Grantaire hissed. “Joly, I sat and watched him sleep for hours and didn’t touch him except to move his hair back.”

            “I worry he’ll hurt you,” Joly explained and they’d fallen quite far behind the others. Grantaire vaguely wondered where they were going. “He’ll react as, well, as most others would – ”

            “I won’t let him know, Joly,” Grantaire sighed, feeling the desperation claw at his chest. “I can’t. I know that.”

            “I wish I knew how he felt,” Joly muttered. “Then I could be of more use to you.”

            “You are of every use,” Grantaire chuckled. “You are my rock.”

            “I’m glad,” Joly sighed, evidently thinking of something else. What, exactly, became clear a few moments later. “Grantaire, do you love him?”

            “What sort of question is that?”

            “A serious one.”

            “Of course – Of course I love him,” Grantaire snapped, feeling his anger at the situation manifest in the form of bitter tears. “Joly, I love him but I cannot love him.”

            Joly’s heart ached for his friend. “At least,” he whispered, “he was pleased to spend time with you.”

            Grantaire nodded, feeling more downcast than he had in a while. He didn’t have long to think like this, though – they’d apparently reached their destination and there was an eruption of noise.

            “Quiet, friends, please!” He heard Combeferre hiss through a laugh. They’d gone to visit him. “I’m glad to see you all but I feel awful – don’t give me more of a headache.”

            “How’s the leg?” Feuilly asked, giving him a concerned look. Combeferre shrugged.

            “I don’t like asking about it.”

            Joly sighed. “Courfeyrac?”

            He just shrugged, not wanting to give anything away. This was probably best – the friends hadn’t all been together since the barricade and it was too much of a good moment to destroy with talk of amputation.

            “Grantaire, I thought you’d left us,” Combeferre said, smiling up at him from his bed. Grantaire just shrugged.

            “He had,” Enjolras said, tentatively sitting on the edge of his friend’s bed. “I found him and brought him back.”

            “Of, if anything could bring Grantaire back it would be you,” Bossuet said, earning himself a tap from Joly’s cane. “What?”

            “I don’t understand,” Enjolras muttered, looking from Grantaire to Joly and to Combeferre. Grantaire sighed.

            “They know I believe in nothing but you – that is all,” he snapped, looking for somewhere to walk to.

            “Hmm,” Combeferre sighed, pushing his glasses up his nose to squint at them all. “How is it that none of you are as bad as I am?”

            “It’s because you’re the worst of us all,” Courfeyrac muttered, touching his friend’s hair lightly.

            “Oh, we all should have ran,” Joly muttered, standing very close to Bossuet. “Look at us. What did we achieve?”

            Enjolras bowed his head and Grantaire wanted to spring forward and defend him – but he had no words.

            “I suppose we can always say we tried,” Combeferre said quietly, realising that this had affected Enjolras. “And we can try again.”

            “No,” Enjolras said quickly, lifting his head to look each of his friends in the eye. “Not again. None of you are putting yourselves in such danger again.”

            “Enjolras, we can make our own decisions – ”

            “I won’t let you risk yourselves again.”

            “Enjolras – ”

            “I won’t watch you all die!” He snapped, suddenly on his feet and staring at them all with  a terrifying fire. These flamed seemed to burn Grantaire the most. “I will not watch my friends die.”

            He wanted to stay and talk to Combeferre but he needed to get out. So he reached behind him and touched his friend’s hair very briefly before sweeping from the room, looking only at Grantaire until he was gone from sight.

            There was silence and they could hear him rushing away.

            There was more silence and Grantaire felt as though he should explain.

            “He’s struggled with this,” he whispered, drawing all eyes onto himself. “He thinks none of you would be hurt if he hadn’t encouraged you to go on the barricade.”

            “What a fool,” Combeferre muttered, looking like he wanted to follow him. “Grantaire, don’t let him get lost. We need him here.”

            This was a dismissal. Grantaire just nodded and headed towards the door.

            “Grantaire?” Courfeyrac. Grantaire turned slowly to look at him with sad eyes. “He doesn’t hate you, mon ami.”

            “Thank you,” Grantaire said, a little sharp. Joly sighed.

            “He means to say that – that Enjolras maybe won’t hate you. Even if he knew your feelings.”

            Silently cursing them all, Grantaire stormed from the room with his cheeks blazing and did all he could to keep tears from his cheeks. He could still see Enjolras in the distance and marched towards him, filled with anger and not sure why.

            “Enjolras!” He shouted, making the man jump and look around. He looked relieved but Grantaire didn’t realise it was because it was just him. “Don’t run off. I want to run off too.”

            “Run off with me,” Enjolras suggested, not realising how that sounded until it was a moment too late. He sighed, looking down as Grantaire reached him. “Were they angry?”

            “At you? No. Upset that they’d upset you, I think.”

            “Why did you leave?”

            “Because I – I thought I should make sure you didn’t get lost,” Grantaire stuttered, aware that his cheeks were still bright.

            “You’re glowing, Grantaire.”

            “It was warm in there.”

            It really hadn’t been. But Enjolras let this go and started walking again, feeling a lot better in himself now that he had a companion.

            They walked in silence. Grantaire had so much that he wanted to say but thought he should say none of it. Enjolras had nothing to say which he didn’t think would upset Grantaire.

            So they walked and walked and were just in each other’s company for another couple of hours. But then they realised they really should eat and returned to the monastery, still in silence, and found their friends again.

            Marius was there.

            “Oh, they haven’t left us,” he called, catching the attention of Joly and Bossuet. Enjolras nodded in their direction but they were both looking at Grantaire.

            “How was it?” Joly asked, speaking only to Grantaire.

            He shrugged awkwardly. “It was a walk, Joly.”

            “Talk much?”

            “Hardly at all,” Enjolras muttered, frowning. “Why?”

            Joly just sighed and turned back to Bossuet. “What do we do with them, ma chere?”

            “What do you mean?” Enjolras asked, frown deepening. Grantaire turned pale and shook his head minutely, begging Joly to not do this to him.

            “You two are friends now, aren’t you?” Bossuet asked, leaning into the table.

            Enjolras nodded.

            “Friends?” Marius echoed, looking from one pair to the other. “What sort of friends? Friends like –?”

            “Friends – more than acquaintances,” Grantaire snapped, “But less than lovers.”

            “Yes,” Enjolras breathed. “That’s it.”

            There was a silence at the table and Grantaire very nearly left. But he hadn’t eaten anything substantial in days and he was more hungry than annoyed with Marius.

            Enjolras, beside him, had never before found himself feeling quite so confused. Grantaire was not a man he could ever respect – but seeing him at the Musain had filled him with a warm lightness that he hadn’t felt before. And finding out that he was capable of doing himself harm – it had terrified him. He found himself wishing it had been one of the others – anyone but Grantaire.

            Thinking these things made it difficult for him to have an appetite so he picked at his food, chewing and swallowing less than half of what he prodded with the fork. Joly noticed and scowled.

            “Enjolras, eat.”

            “I cannot.”

            “Why not? Is it your head?”

            “No, no,” he laughed once, rather coolly. “No, it is my heart.”

            “Your heart?” Bossuet frowned. “You can’t mean love, Enjolras!”

            Grantaire shrank into himself and wondered how he could slink away. Enjolras glared at the table.

            “I might,” he grumbled, folding his arms across his chest and not looking any of them in the eye. “I have a higher regard for your life now than ever before,” he whispered, aware that he was talking about one person. Everyone else noticed, too. “Your life has become my happiness and I wonder whether that’s all love is.”

            Joly spoke, carefully keeping his eyes from Grantaire. “Love is more than that. It’s a need for someone to be happy and a joy whenever they are around you.”

            Enjolras nodded, his shoulders by his ears. Grantaire thought he might be sick.

            “If you’re struggling with love,” Bossuet said slowly, “You should speak to Prouvaire. Or Courfeyrac.”

            “I may,” Enjolras muttered, finally pushing away from the table and walking away. Grantaire wasn’t sure whether or not he’d meant for his hand to brush against his shoulder but it burned as if he’d slapped him.

            Enjolras gone, the friends spoke openly.

            “Grantaire, I’m sorry –”

            “He loves you,” Joly said bluntly, making him look up. His eyes were a lot harder than he meant them to be. “He loves you, Grantaire,” Joly insisted, despite the hard gaze. “He loves you.”

            “Stop saying that,” Grantaire snapped, getting to his feet, too. “I know you mean well but, please – ignore it. I’m trying to.”

            “Grantaire, don’t be a fool.”

            “I’m going to see if they have a room I can lock myself in,” he sighed, giving his greatest friend a sad look. “I am sorry for snapping at you but this hurts.”

            “I know, Grantaire.”

            “He can’t love me, just as I can’t love him. We all know that. So goodnight – I hope you’re all even more well tomorrow.”

            Grantaire left, face and chest burning. He wanted to cry. He wanted to hide and cry until there were no tears left in him – but he couldn’t. There were people everywhere.

            Ahead, he saw Enjolras disappear into his room. The echo of the door slamming filled the corridor and rattled Grantaire’s bones.

            He had to see him and make sure he was okay.

            So he walked up to the door and raised a fist to knock against the wood. But he hesitated, because he was afraid, and heard the most awful noise from inside. Enjolras was sobbing.

            He nearly left. But he wouldn’t sleep knowing Enjolras was upset.

            So he stole himself and tapped his knuckles lightly against the wood. “Enjolras? It’s me – It’s Grantaire.”

            “Go to bed, Grantaire,” Enjolras sniffed. “Go on. I’m fine.”

            “Are you crying?”

            A pause. “Yes.”

            “Let me see you – just for a moment.”

            Inside, Enjolras sighed and moved away from where he was sitting against the door. “Okay,” he called, “fine.”

            Grantaire opened the door slowly, absolutely terrified. Enjolras was doing his best to hide what he was feeling but, when he saw Grantaire’s concerned face – battered and bruised because he’d wanted to help the cause – he lost it and sobbed openly.

            “Enjolras, what’s wrong?”

            “Shut the door, will you?”

            Grantaire stepped into the room and shut it firmly, wishing he could hold Enjolras and make whatever was hurting him disappear.

            He didn’t have to wish. The door shut and Enjolras gritted his teeth, closing the distance between them and carelessly throwing his arms around Grantaire. He stumbled back, into the door, and gasped.

            “What are you doing?” He asked, too afraid of everything to put his arms around him and hold him there. Enjolras sobbed once more before answering.

            “Giving up,” he choked. “Grantaire, I cannot face this world without you.”

            Grantaire could have fainted. “You don’t have to,” he muttered, very slowly raising his arms. His hands stopped on Enjolras’s waist.

            “You could have died.”

            “Only if you had done.”

            Enjolras sobbed again and held on even tighter to him. Terrified, Grantaire moved his hands aroura his back.

            “I don’t know what I’m feeling,” Enjolras breathed, voice muffled by Grantaire’s shoulder. “I don’t understand this.”

            “Describe it to me,” Grantaire suggested, thinking maybe this was just some sort of panic.

            “I have never been happier to be around someone,” Enjolras whispered. “I have never been so afraid of someone dying. I have never felt happier to have someone see me cry,” he chuckled, hands on the sides of Grantaire’s chest. “I look at you and you’re – you’re blinding.”

            “I don’t understand,” Grantaire squeaked.

            “Me neither.”

            “No, I don’t understand how you could hate me yesterday but say you feel like that now.”

            “Hate you?” Enjolras pulled back, frowning again. “I have never hated you.”

            “You never loved me.”

            “I always –!” He stopped himself, the realisation of what he had almost said throwing panic across his face. “But I can’t.”

            Grantaire leaned heavily against the door. “Why?”

            “Because society – ”

            “You fought for society and it nearly killed you,” Grantaire whispered, hardly able to believe he was saying this. “Don’t worry, Enjolras.  I don’t expect you to love me back.”

            They both blinked.

            “Love you back?”

            “Oh,” Grantaire hissed, throwing his head back. “My foolish tongue ran away with my heart and left my brain in the dust.”

            “Love you back?” Enjolras repeated, moving his hands down to either side of his waist. “Grantaire, explain.”

            “Don’t make me say it,” Grantaire hissed, dropping his hands from Enjolras’s back. “Don’t make me do this. Not after so long of keeping it from you.”

            “Grantaire, tell me.”

            “I have loved you forever,” He snapped. “You must know that. Everyone knows that.”

            Enjolras shook his head.

            “I have loved you forever, Enjolras. It’s all I’ve known. The only reason I’m here.”

            Enjolras swallowed swiftly and nodded. “Love?”

            Grantaire sighed. He supposed he could always just run away after this conversation. “More than I love Joly. Less than you love France.”

            “I don’t understand.”

            “I can’t compete with your love for your country,” Grantaire said with his eyes closed. “I don’t expect you to understand but you made me say it – now let me  -”

            Impossibly, incredibly, Enjolras interrupted him with a kiss. It was short and delicate and almost didn’t happen – except it did and it took the breath from Grantaire’s chest. Enjolras stumbled back, shocked at what he’d done, and stared with wide, teary eyes at the man who was struggling to stay on his feet.

            Neither of them could speak for several minutes. Angry, terrified tears flew down Enjolras’s cheeks like waterfalls but he was silent. Grantaire kept finding his thoughts drifting into nothingness and had to drag them back to work out what had happened in the last ten minutes.

            “What was that?” He managed, barely able to look at Enjolras. He was blinding him.

            “I’ve seen you kiss women at the cafes,” Enjolras said, voice incredibly feeble. “Why not me?”

            “Because you hate me.”

            “I do not, Grantaire,” He choked, leaning against the opposite wall and starting to fall to the floor. What had he done? That sort of thing wasn’t allowed. “Why shouldn’t I get a chance?”

            “A chance?”

            “To be with you.”

            Grantaire shuddered and touched his fingers lightly to his lips. “I would have given you a chance if you’d asked,” he muttered around his hand. “You don’t need a chance. I – I’ve loved you forever, Enjolras.”

            “I shouldn’t have kissed you,” Enjolras breathed, sitting on the floor. Grantaire stumbled toward him, moving as if the air was thicker than soup.

            “Here, it’s okay. But around people – ”

            “You’re not mad?”

            “Mad?” Grantaire echoed, laughing and sinking to his knees in front of Enjolras. “Why would I be mad?”

            “I kissed you.”

            “Yes, I know,” Grantaire was smiling now – grinning, almost – and he didn’t know why. “I know. You kissed me, Enjolras.”

            “I didn’t mean to,” He muttered, pulling his knees to his face. “I’m sorry, Grantaire.”

            “Why?”

            “Because I didn’t ask.”

            Grantaire sighed and stared at this beautiful man – this man with bloodshot eyes and golden hair and a bloodied forehead. This man who – who had kissed him.

            “Enjolras?”

            He raised his face, looking terrified. But Grantaire was smiling and it threw him.

            “May I kiss you?”

            Enjolras’s frightened eyes widened and he stared, completely shocked, for a moment. And then he nodded, casting a glance at the door and begging it to stay shut.

            Grantaire moved very slowly, not daring to breathe, and leaned towards Enjolras until their lips were touching. He barely let himself put any pressure onto Enjolras before pulling back, heart thundering in his throat and making the room spin.

            “Grantaire, what happens now?” Enjolras breathed, frozen. Grantaire swallowed.

            “I do not know.”

            “Do you know what I mean when I say I love you?” Enjolras asked, making Grantaire’s skin flame. His stomach flipped.

            “I think so.”

            “It means I’m – I’m – I think I’m in love with you.”

            “Good,” Grantaire gasped, reaching up daringly to put his hand on the side of Enjolras’s face. “Good, because I am in love with you.”

            “Really?”

            Grantaire nodded and Enjolras let out a long sigh, visibly shuddering as the tension left him. He closed his eyes for a moment and leaned his face into Grantaire’s palm.

            “Thank you.”

            “What for?”

            “For so much,” he muttered, opening his eyes again. “For not dying. For following me. For believing in me. For loving me.”

            Grantaire was grinning. “Thank you for not hating me,” he breathed, pushing his fingers delicately into Enjolras’s hair. “Thank you for loving me.”

            They sat there on the floor for a moment longer.

"Is this real?" Enjolras asked in a whisper. "Am I dead after all?"

"If you are dead then so am I," Grantaire pointed out. "But I don't mind which way."

Enjolras just nodded. "What do we do now?"

"I don't - I don't know," Grantaire sat back, still staring at him. "Maybe we should each go to bed and see what we feel tomorrow."

"What do you mean?"

"I leave you so -"

"Don't leave me!"  Enjolras almost begged, shooting forward to take one of Grantaire's hands. "For heaven's sake not now. Not when I've admitted to you how much you mean to me. Don't leave me alone where I can doubt this."

Grantaire felt a chill right through his chest that was related to panic. "Okay," He said. "I'll sit up with you. All night, if you want."

"Why sit up?"

"Because there is a chair."

Enjolras sighed and got to his feet, shaking his head. "Lie with me," He whispered, walking the few steps to the bed and promptly throwing himself down onto the mattress. The sheets were thin and useless in this summer weather.

Grantaire was struggling to process that. "What?"

"Lie with me, Grantaire."

"I can't - you can't want me to lie with you," Grantaire muttered. "You can't."

"Why not?"

"Because you - we - I will take up too much room." He spluttered.

"Try anyway."

"If someone comes in -"

"Then we can be damned by them. I do not care - Grantaire, lie with me. I'm afraid of closing my eyes without you." Enjolras stared at him and his eyes still seemed to be leaking tears. Grantaire could not refuse.

"Where?" He asked, getting to his feet. Enjolras smiled suddenly and lit the room with his radiance.

"Here," He whispered, leaning back against the wall. "In front of me."

Grantaire lay down carefully, not sure if he was supposed to be facing Enjolras or not. So he lay on his back and stared at the ceiling, terrified. They weren’t touching.

“If I fall asleep,” Enjolras whispered, “Don’t leave the room.”

“Why?”

“Because when I wake up I won’t believe this has happened,” He said, trying to breathe as quietly as possible. Grantaire was warm and he started subconsciously moving towards him.

“I will have difficulty forgetting,” Grantaire muttered, raising his hand to touch his lips again. He struggled to breathe.

“Is that a good thing?”

“Definitely,” Grantaire sighed, dropping his eyes down to look at Enjolras. His hair had fallen in front of his massive eyes again and cast low shadows over his cheeks. Grantaire looked quickly back up at the ceiling.

“Talk to me about something,” Enjolras whispered after a while, folding his arms over his chest. They were itching for Grantaire and he was terrified – he’d never been so desperate for physical contact. The silence in the room was making it impossible to drown out the sounds of their heartbeats and jilted breathing.

“About what?”

“Anything.”

“My thoughts are too confused to put into words.”

“Try.”

Grantaire sighed and looked over at him again. “This isn’t real.”

“It is,” Enjolras said, smiling rather suddenly. “Despite the world, this is real.”

“You don’t love any man.”

“I – I love one man,” Enjolras stuttered, slightly taken aback. Grantaire was being unfairly dismissive of him. “I don’t think I realised it until today.”

Grantaire sighed again and looked back at the ceiling. “You will move past this. You’ll find a way to fix the world again and have no time for one man.”

“You doubt me, Grantaire?”

“You know I believe in you,” He snapped, chest hurting. “You are my only philosophy.”

“Then why -?”

“You don’t and can’t love me, Enjolras. I’m not a fool.”

“You are,” Enjolras snapped, pushing himself up on one arm to lean over him. His blood was boiling and he wasn’t sure what he was going to do but his eyes kept jumping to the door. “You believe in me but won’t believe me. You realise what it took for me to tell you this, don’t you?” Grantaire looked away and nodded. “I don’t tell you I love you because it’s a fleeting feeling. It’s – it had overpowered me and I am weak without you.”

Grantaire very carefully didn’t breathe. If he had done he would have cried.

“Say something,” Enjolras hissed. “Say something before I have to leave.”

“Why would you leave?”

“The shame of loving a man and not having it returned – ”

“Is something I’ve lived with for these past years,” Grantaire sighed, looking back at him and being slightly surprised at how close he was. “I haven’t known anything else, Enjolras, so don’t speak as if I wouldn’t know how that would feel.”

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras muttered, frowning. “I had no idea.”

“Good. I couldn’t bear for you to know – not if you weren’t going to return it.”

“But I do.”

“So you say.”

“Grantaire, stop this!” Enjolras cried a little too loudly. He lowered his voice and, incredibly bravely, put his hand on the side of Grantaire’s face. “Doubt the world – doubt freedom – doubt your own eyes – doubt our group’s cause. Do not doubt this. It is the only light to pass through yesterday and don’t take it from me. I say I love you and I do – it’s not a temporary thing. It’s a burning that won’t fade.”

“Enjolras –”

“Don’t argue with me.”

“ – Thank you.”

Enjolras blinked down at him.

“Thank you for not hating me as I thought you did,” Grantaire said, managing a smile. “You’ve always meant so much to me.”

Enjolras smiled and moved his hand from Grantaire’s cheek into his hair. He’d wanted to touch the wild dark cloud for a while and got himself lost in the curls.

“Enjolras?”

“Hmm?”

“You were staring at me,” Grantaire whispered, laughing under his breath. “You should sleep, Enjolras.”

“I slept all day,” he muttered, glaring across the room. “How can I be sure I’m not still asleep?”

Grantaire laughed again and touched Enjolras’s hand – but only to move it from his hair. Instead, Enjolras let his hand lie lightly on Grantaire’s chest.

“I can’t prove that you’re awake,” Grantaire sighed after a moment. “But, if this is a dream, I don’t wish to wake from it.”

“Neither do I,” Enjolras said, eyes wide again. He stared down at this man and swallowed tightly. “You promise you won’t leave me?”

“Never.”

“If I fall asleep and wake and you are gone –”

“It will never happen,” Grantaire promised, trembling slightly. He needed to make this clear. “I will not leave you until you send me away – even then, I’d rather stay and you be angry than leave and never see you again.”

Enjolras spoke very tightly, his chest in knots. “Grantaire, may I kiss you again?”

“Of – of course.”

Enjolras moved quickly and slipped his hand around the side of Grantaire’s broad chest, leaning down to touch their lips together for a tantalizing moment. He heard himself gasp and pulled away, sitting against the wall again.

“You’ve never kissed before, have you?” Grantaire said softly, blinking the haze from his eyes. Enjolras shook his head.

“You do it as if it’s easy – it’s terrifying.”

“It’s certainly less terrifying with a woman,” Grantaire admitted with a shaky laugh. If the door would lock he’d feel a lot more at ease.

“Is that because it’s accepted by this society?”

“And expected,” Grantaire sighed. “A man’s love for another man shocks people because it is not what they expect to see – it is not what they are told love can be.”

“But it can be love,” Enjolras hissed. “It can. This is.”

“Yes,” Grantaire said with a smile. “This is.”

After sitting there for a while, thoughts chasing each other in circles, Enjolras realised he was exhausted. His eyes turned heavy and he found himself staring at Grantaire a lot more than he’d intended – and thinking about things he shouldn’t have thought about. So he grumbled and lay down again, this time with parts of his long body touching Grantaire’s – who was still lying on his back on the edge of the bed.

Grantaire spoke.

“I never touched you before today,” he commented, speaking in the smallest of whispers. “And you never touched me.”

“I make a point to not touch people,” Enjolras muttered, aware that this disagreed with how he’d behaved in the last few hours. “In general, physical contact is repulsive to me.”

“How so?”

“Other people’s skin and warmth – being separated by no space – ”He shuddered and, despite what he was saying, longed for the warmth of Grantaire’s arm around his waist again. “Usually, I need my own space.”

“Usually?”

“Every time except now.”

Grantaire hardly dared to ask. “Why not now?”

Enjolras sighed sharply and, before he could stop himself, had trailed his arm across Grantaire’s chest. He felt the man stop breathing and then felt and heard the rapid pulse of his heart – a thundering noise that filled the room and made Enjolras’s cheeks glow.

Grantaire thought he might die.

Enjolras’s arm was light – he wasn’t resting it fully on him – and more comforting than any bottle or any other arms Grantaire had encountered. Despite his fears, he found himself leaning into him. He convinced himself that no one was going to walk in on them and turned to face Enjolras, holding his breath, and rested his hand very lightly on his waist. He seemed tiny compared to Grantaire – as if one uncoordinated movement would snap him in half.

They were face to face and neither of them were breathing.

They studied each other, taking in the tones of their skin and irises and noticing how the eyelashes shortened at the corners. Grantaire found his eyes bouncing between Enjolras’s red lips and the red which showed under the bandage and wondered how the two colours, one luscious and one terrible, could possibly be derived from the same source.

Eventually, Enjolras sighed and closed his eyes. His eyebrows pulled together in a small frown. “I don’t know what to do,” he said, frown deepening with each passing moment. “I – I want to stay and love you as much as I do forever. I can’t face ever having to stop loving you – but it’s so dangerous, Grantaire.”

He nodded silently, not sure how he could say anything to that.

“I couldn’t regret it, though,” Enjolras continued, mostly to himself. His eyes were still closed and it seemed to help him say these things. “Despite everything – despite Combeferre being so hurt – I’ve never been happier.”

Grantaire swallowed tightly. “I’m sure he’ll recover.”

“Are you? Because I’m not,” Enjolras said darkly, his frown deepening and arm tightening around Grantaire. “Amputation is so dangerous – ”

“People survive it all the time.”

“And die from it all the time.”

Grantaire pursed his lips and, not sure what else he could do, touched them to Enjolras’s forehead. Another quiet, shuddering gasp left the man and Grantaire found himself smiling.

He moved away again, still smiling, and saw that Enjolras was looking at him. His eyes were wide and his bright lips parted ever so slightly and Grantaire did not expect the kiss that followed the tiny upwards twitch of the corner of his mouth.

It was more than a quick touch and each of them felt like maybe this kiss meant something – something more than the last three. Those could have been brushed aside; this was strong and stepped away from some of their fears. This kiss had a warmth which penetrated down through their chests and put sparks behind their eyelids. Again, a suffocated noise reached out from Enjolras’s chest and they stopped suddenly, terrified.

“They’ll hear you,” Grantaire pointed out, nervously chuckling. “We mustn’t risk that.”

“I know,” Enjolras muttered, closing his eyes again. His arm was tight around Grantaire now, their chests together. “I’m so afraid of the door swinging open.”

A lump in his throat, Grantaire could only nod.

Enjolras sighed rather sharply and took a handful of the back of Grantaire’s shirt. “I need to sleep,” he muttered, “But I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Grantaire, you know.”

He blinked. “No.”

Enjolras sighed again, touching their foreheads together. Grantaire couldn’t think for a moment. “You’re here and so warm – so real. I feel so safe – but so afraid – with your arm around my waist.” Grantaire tightened it in response, holding them together more tightly. “I’m coiled, ready to run.”

Grantaire thought about this for a moment. “Where to?”

“Wherever people are truly free.”

He sighed and had nothing to say. He could think of no such place and thought the whole idea was probably impossible.

“We’ll find somewhere,” he heard himself promise. Enjolras looked up at him, pleasantly surprised, but Grantaire didn’t see because his eyes were closed. This was hurting him more than he could have expected. “If you want to look or fight for somewhere like that you know I’ll be there with you.”

“You were always so much more than I realised,” Enjolras sighed, moving his hand down Grantaire’s back and nervously exploring the contours. “Thank you.”

“I wanted to be worthy of you,” Grantaire muttered. “Enjolras, you are everything to me.”

He smiled a little and curled up, leaning down so his forehead was against Grantaire’s chest. He could hear his heartbeat and breathing and, unexpectedly, brought tears to his eyes.

“I am in love with you,” he breathed, liking how it sounded out loud. Now that he’d said it once it seemed easier – everything started to make sense and he understood his seemingly irrational irritation at Grantaire’s lack of passion for life. He understood the blind terror of earlier that day.

Barely a second had passed.

“Are you really? Quite sure?”

Enjolras sighed sharply and, daring beyond belief – it made Grantaire’s skin break into a sweat – pushed his right knee between Grantaire’s legs and tangled them together. “Yes,” he hissed, trembling. “Je t’aime, Grantaire.”

He grinned at the wall above Enjolras’s head and forgot that he was scared of someone walking in and finding them. At that moment, Grantaire was ready to announce his love to the world.

“Vous êtes ma lumière, ” he breathed. “Mon amour.”

They held each other in silence for a while and Grantaire thought Enjolras had fallen asleep. But, making him jump, he muttered this:

“Of all of us, I’m glad you survived.”

Grantaire smiled and bowed his head to kiss Enjolras’s hair. It smelt as beautiful as he always thought it would. “I’m quite glad, too.”

“I don’t want to lose you. Not now.”

He kissed his hair again. “You won’t,” he promised. “I am and always have been and will be yours. But sleep now, Enjolras. I promise I’ll be here in the morning. If anyone walks in they’ll have to drag me from you and I’ll wake you so you can know I didn’t want to leave.” He took a deep breath, realising that this scenario was likely to happen. “You’ll always have my heart.”

“And mine is yours, ” Enjolras whispered, holding him a little tightly.

“Sleep, Enjolras,” Grantaire breathed, hand slipping from his waist to around his back. “Sleep, my beautiful.”

Enjolras took a deep breath and relaxed, keeping his thoughts under as much control as he could. He rarely slept well but that night, even though he woke suddenly at some small morning hour in a flurry of panic, his sleep was refreshing. Seeing Grantaire beside him melted the icy fear in his chest and he was able to sleep again.

*

The friends knew of Enjolras’s strange reaction by the time they’d all gone to bed – Joly and Bossuet had wasted no time in trying to find out whether they were right and it was Grantaire whom he loved. Combeferre was sleeping but Courfeyrac sat awake with him and had been able to offer them little light.

“If it’s anyone,” He whispered, speaking down to Combeferre. They were inseparable. “It will not be a woman. If it is not France it is Grantaire – but he has never breathed of it.”

“Something has changed between them,” Joly pointed out. “Enjolras would barely look at R before today – and today they spent who knows how many hours together.”

“Enjolras is terrified,” Courfeyrac sighed, “of what almost happened.”

“I understand that, but – ”

“Don’t press the subject with him,” he asked, looking up at his friend. “We can’t know the pain he’s going through. Each of us are changed and each of us have our own struggles now. Give him time – give them both time.”

“Do you think it is Grantaire?”

He sighed and brought Combeferre’s limp hand to his lips. “If it is anyone. But it’s getting late – you should sleep, Bossuet. You look awful.”

“He always does,” Joly chuckled, taking his friend’s arm in his free hand. “Come on, Courfeyrac’s right.”

“I always am.”

“Goodnight, Courf,” Bossuet grinned, walking slowly with Joly back from the room. “Be careful, mon ami.”

“And you.”

They told Jean Prouvaire and they were more certain than Courfeyrac that it must be love for Grantaire that had thrown Enjolras. But, as they pointed out, Coufeyrac had other things on his mind.

“They haven’t decided yet,” he explained. “If it stays as it is then he can keep it. But it’s this night and the next day that are really going to determine it.”

“Poor Courfeyrac,” Joly sighed, pushing his fingers through his hair. “He loves Combeferre dearly.”

“Their love for each other is beautiful,” Prouvaire sighed, “But so dangerous.”

“These are dangerous times, mon ami,” Bossuet pointed out, very purposefully taking Joly’s hand. “They can’t kill us all.”

“They nearly did,” Prouvaire said, one eyebrow raised. “How is your deesse?”

Each of them looked grey. “We don’t know,” Joly explained, looking over at Bossuet with a pained frown. “We haven’t seen her since the day before the barricade.”

Prouvaire’s chest panged for them. “You should find her,” He whispered. “Tomorrow. She may not know that you survived it.”

“She may not care.”

“She cares,” Bossuet whispered, squeezing Joly’s hand. “She cares but is afraid to care for us both.”

“I think,” Jean Prouvaire said with a sigh, “We are all afraid to care too much. And too much, according to this world, is how much you two care – how much Combeferre and Courfeyrac care. If that’s how much Enjolras cares – ”

“We already know it’s how much Grantaire cares,” Joly muttered, torn. “Oh, Prouvaire, I hope he does love him, but – ”

“It’s so dangerous you wish they could just be friends?”

Joly nodded.

“We’ll find out with time, I suppose,” Bossuet sighed. “Until then, Courfeyrac was right. I should sleep.”

“Okay, mon cher,” Joly smiled, standing again. “Prouvaire, sleep well. And thank you.”

“For what?”

“Our lives,” Bossuet beamed and ducked down to kiss his friend’s cheek before leaving. “And your friendship!”

*

Jean Prouvaire woke with the first morning bird and made it his job to check on all of his friends. The first stop was the most urgent: Combeferre. He reached the room and knocked lightly.

“Hello?” Courfeyrac’s voice was hoarse with disuse throughout the night and he coughed to clear it. Prouvaire knew he hadn’t slept even before he opened the door and saw him.

“It’s me,” he said uselessly, stepping into the room. Combeferre was still sleeping and looked less green than the day before. “How are you, Ferre?”

“I’m – I’m – Prouvaire, look,” he whispered, getting up and moving the covers from Combeferre’s leg. The wound was almost too much for the soft-hearted man to see but, for his friend, he looked. “Look at it. That doesn’t look like an infection – it’s getting better.”

“I pray you’re right,” Prouvaire said, swallowing quickly. “I have no knowledge of these things.”

“I’m just waiting for one of them to come and tell me he’s okay,” Courfeyrac whimpered, sitting back down. “Since they told me how hurt he was I haven’t been able to breathe.”

Prouvaire took a shaky breath and put his arms around his friend, giving him the only comfort he could manage. “He will be fine, mon ami.”

“He’s hurting,” Courfeyrac croaked, holding Prouvaire to him and trying to not cry. “He keeps waking and he looks like he’s going to be sick – I couldn’t sleep in case something happened – ”

“You silly, lovely man,” Prouvaire sighed, giving him a squeeze before stepping back. “You must sleep today.”

“Not if they don’t promise that he’s getting better.”

“He is getting better,” Prouvaire said, smiling. “Look at him. You saw him yesterday and the night before. He’s improving every hour.”

Courfeyrac nodded and returned to his seat, taking Combeferre’s hand again. “Thank you, Prouvaire. For everything.”

Jean Prouvaire beamed at his friend as he left the room, suddenly anxious to check where Enjolras was. And where Grantaire was, for that matter.

He went straight to Enjolras’s room, praying that he would be there. Ideally alone – and then they’d have no reason to fear.

He knocked lightly, listening for any sounds of life. None came. So he pushed the door gently and peered into the room.

It took him a moment to work out what he was seeing. There, on the bed, were two men. Similar heights but completely different builds; they complimented each other as day does night. Grantaire had his back to the room and seemed to be protecting Enjolras, curled around him with his arm low around his waist. Their legs were a tangle and he could see that Enjolras had fallen asleep with his face hidden in Grantaire’s chest.

Jean Prouvaire seriously considered standing there and guarding them

But another person could walk in at any moment and see them. Hating to do this, he shut the door behind himself and cleared his throat.

“Grantaire, Enjolras, wake up. It’s daytime. It’s not safe anymore,” he said in just over a whisper. He touched Grantaire’s shoulder lightly. “Grantaire – ”

He woke suddenly and reacted like lightning. Already shielding Enjolras, he sat up and turned to face the interrupter with defiance and fearlessness in his eyes, his arms tensed and ready to defend Enjolras.

And then he saw that it was his friend and he blushed.

“Oh.”

“Grantaire, what happened?” Prouvaire asked, more relaxed now that he was awake and sitting up.

“I – I came to see if he was alright,” Grantaire stuttered, the blush growing. “He was crying so I came in and he – he hugged me – ”

The voices had woken Enjolras and he whimpered, one hand going out to find Grantaire and the other to his head. “Grantaire?”

“I’m here,” he whispered, taking the hand and throwing a terrified look at Prouvaire. “Enjolras, Jean Prouvaire is here.”

He opened his eyes slowly, turning pale. “Oh no,” he whispered, “are we discovered?”

“You are,” Prouvaire said with a laugh. “Don’t worry. We all have secrets. I woke you because I wanted to protect you – you can’t be like this when they come to check on you.”

Enjolras closed his eyes again and lay back into the bed, going from pale to grey. Grantaire and Prouvaire shared a look.

“Enjolras, are you okay?”

He shook his head minutely and held Grantaire’s hand so tight he thought the bones might snap.

“What can we do?”

“It’s just my head,” he muttered, biting his lip. “Grantaire – ”

“I’m here,” he repeated, turning from Prouvaire to put his free hand lightly over the bandage. “Tell me what to do.”

Wordlessly, Enjolras leaned into the warmth and pressure of the hand and fought against the pain. Prouvaire felt like he ought to get help.

“I think,” Enjolras managed after a moment of this, “I need a drink.”

“I’ll find something,” Jean Prouvaire volunteered, walking towards the door. “Be careful, friends. I will be back soon but someone else may be here before me.”

“Prouvaire?” Grantaire called, turning from Enjolras for just a moment. “Thank you.”

The man smiled ad them and shut the door as firmly as he could, hoping they could spend their last few minutes alone together in peace.

In the room, Grantaire was worrying. He was aware of how close they’d been to being found out- by someone who loved them less than Jean Prouvaire did – and he was also aware of how he’d overreacted. And, on top of this, Enjolras looked like he was going to be sick.

He lay close to the cool wall, eyes closed, and kept Grantaire’s hand pressed to his forehead. The pressure helped numb the throbbing and the fact that it was Grantaire’s hand made it that much nicer. Grantaire sat in concerned silence and just watched the colour slowly return to his face.

When the room had stopped spinning, Enjolras opened his eyes and looked up at Grantaire and saw just how worried he was. He tried to sit up, wanting to take it away from him, but Grantaire pushed him back down onto the pillow.

“No, Enjolras,” he breathed. “Stay lying down until Prouvaire returns.”

“You look upset,” he muttered, reaching up to touch Grantaire’s cheek – it made him grin.

“I’m not. I am, but it’s nothing you can fix.”

“What’s wrong?”

“The world.”

“I will fix it for us,” Enjolras vowed, staring up at him with burning eyes. “I will find a way for this to survive.”

“But not today,” Grantaire whispered, wanting desperately to lean down and kiss him. Or, even worse – to pick him up and take him away from where people could see them and tell them that they were wrong. Instead, he stayed perfectly still and kept his hand in Enjolras’s.

“No,” Enjolras sighed, darkness covering his eyes. He closed them. “Not today. Not tomorrow. Not this week, nor this month.”

“One day.”

“I won’t stop fighting for it,” Enjolras muttered, eyes still closed. “For us. For Combeferre and Courfeyrac. For Joly and Bossuet.”

“I love you,” Grantaire said suddenly, the words pushing forward out of his mouth before he could help himself. Enjolras looked up at him and a slow smile grew across his face.

“I love you too, ma chere,” he whispered, looking at him with eyes now without darkness and full of sweetness. “Forgive me for taking so long to realise this.”

“There is no need to forgive you,” Grantaire smiled, being sure to keep the pressure on Enjolras’s forehead. “Thank you for giving me your heart.”

Enjolras smiled so much it hurt and he laughed, putting his hand on Grantaire’s waist. “I wish I could hold you forever.”

Grantaire swallowed tightly and gave his hand a squeeze. “One day, mon amour. One day.”

Prouvaire returned soon after that and, after Enjolras had drank what he could, Grantaire commandeered the beaker.

*

They dared not leave each other’s side. Enjolras was visited by one of the volunteers – who decided it was best to remove his bandage – and Grantaire stayed in the room the whole time. When the volunteer left Grantaire moved forward to retake Enjolras’s hand, very aware of the grey shadows under his eye.

“How do you feel?” He asked, starting to frown. The gash across Enjolras’s head was horrific – but no longer bleeding, which he was glad for.

“Weak,” Enjolras muttered, blinking up at him. “And small.”

“How so?”

“My head hurts,” He explained, raising his free hand to touch the raw red scab lightly. “Is it horrible?”

Grantaire swallowed. “A little,” he admitted, “It looks like you shouldn’t be recovering so quickly.”

“Hmm,” Enjolras dropped his hand and closed his eyes. “Lie with me again?”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Grantaire muttered, wondering if there was anywhere they could go. “Not here.”

“For a moment?”

Grantaire looked over at the door and chewed his lip. “Enjolras, I want to – I really want to –”

“Please,” he breathed, holding his hand very tightly. “Just hold me for a – a moment.”

How could Grantaire resist?

He moved stiffly forward, perching beside Enjolras on the edge of the bed. Enjolras leaned straight into him, taking a handful of the front of Grantaire’s shirt in his free hand and hiding his face in his shoulder. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes, praying that they could be alone for a few moments more.

“We should go somewhere,” Grantaire muttered, putting his free arm tentatively over Enjolras’s shoulder to pull him into him. “Somewhere away from people.”

“Where?” Enjolras muttered, clinging to him. “Tell me where and we will go.”

“I’m thinking,” Grantaire promised, kissing his hair and pushing his tired, damaged brain as far as he could. “I want somewhere I can hear you speak and hold your hand and not worry about someone walking in and reacting to us.”

Enjolras nodded. “Somewhere I can hold you and keep you safe.”

“Somewhere with a lock,” Grantaire summarised, wishing he could think of a better place. “My home is empty.”

“You have a home?”

Grantaire frowned. “Where did you think I lived?”

“I – I didn’t,” Enjolras muttered, kissing his shoulder. “Sorry. I didn’t think.”

Grantaire just laughed and kissed his hair again. He worried that he was doing it too much. “It’s fine, mon amour.”

Enjolras was quiet for a moment. It became clear that Grantaire wasn’t going to speak again so he sighed. “Grantaire, take me home.”

He lit up but Enjolras was still hidden in his shoulder so didn’t see. “You’d want to?”

“Of course. I can’t imagine the sort of place you would live – ”

“Don’t get your hopes too high,” He laughed, moving his hand tenderly down Enjolras’s back. “We should go.”

“Help me up,” Enjolras mumbled, pulling himself from Grantaire’s shoulder to face the room again. Grantaire released him unwillingly and stood up, holding his hands out for Enjolras’s. He took them firmly and smiled, gritting his teeth as he put his weight through his feet and stood.

For a moment, Grantaire thought he would fall. But Enjolras found his strength and stood there, smiling at him.

“I feel better than yesterday,” He reported, nodding slowly. “I don’t feel so bad anymore.”

“Do you want to see Combeferre before we go?”

Enjolras turned pale. “I’m almost too afraid.”

“We should see him.”

Enjolras nodded again and gave Grantaire’s hands a last squeeze. “Okay,” He whispered. “When we’re there please take my hand again. I’ll need your support.”

“I’ll be with you,” Grantaire promised, raising Enjolras’s hands to his lips. “I’ll hold you together.”

Enjolras looked like no one had ever told him anything more important or reassuring. He put his fingertips into the edge of Grantaire’s hairline and smiled, loving the warmth of Grantaire’s skin on his cold hands.

They let go of each other and walked slowly from the room, checking behind them every few steps as they tiptoed down the corridor to where Combeferre’s room was. They didn’t dare hold hands but walked close together – so that their arms breezed against each other.

“I hope he’s okay,” Enjolras muttered with every few steps, staring at the floor. “I feel awful to be able to walk around with you when he’s so – so –”

“Hurt?”

“Yeah.”

Silence until they reached the room. The door was shut.

“Oh, god,” Enjolras whispered. “Dare I?”

Grantaire knocked for him.

“Who is it?”Courfeyrac. His voice sounded strained and they each had a terrible, terrible feeling in the pits of their stomachs. Grantaire found Enjolras’s hand.

“It’s me, Courf,” Enjolras called shakily. “And Grantaire.”

Surprisingly, laughter from inside. “Come in!” Combeferre called, making the colour jump back into Enjolras’s face. They fell into the room and stared.

Combeferre was full of life and red faced. He grinned at them both and held his hand out for Enjolras – and then realised that it was already taken.

“Courfeyrac, we have a situation,” He breathed, staring at the hands. Courfeyrac was too busy grinning with relief to notice. Enjolras and Grantaire stood by in silence, grinning with him. “Courfeyrac, look!”

It took him a moment. He studied Grantaire – saw that he was smiling – studied Enjolras – saw that he had his bandage removed. His eyes passed down over their necks and down their bodies to where their hands hung together.

He swore under his breath and clasped Combeferre’s hand.

“Grantaire, shut the door,” Combeferre squeaked, sitting as straight as he could. “We need to talk.”

“I don’t know what you’re so excited about,” Enjolras said innocently, taking Grantaire’s hand again as soon as possible. His friends were staring at him, their good news momentarily forgotten.

“Enjolras, you are aware that you are holding our cynic’s hand?”

“Rather tightly,” Combeferre added, squinting down at their hands. “Why?”

“Because,” Enjolras said slowly, looking down at Grantaire and grinning. “I love him.”

Grantaire blushed and Combeferre shrieked; Courfeyrac swore loudly and slapped his free hand over his mouth and Enjolras beamed.

“There,” he whispered into the stunned room, “I finally told you.”

“How long?” Courfeyrac demanded, sitting heavily back in his chair. “How long has this been going on?”

“Which part?” Enjolras asked, still grinning at Grantaire. “Loving him or holding his hand?”

“Loving – ”

“Holding –“

They laughed.

“I have loved him for months,” Enjolras whispered, turning to face him properly. Grantaire looked up at him, still red. “I only managed to tell him last night.”

“Joly was right,” Courfeyrac muttered, looking down at Comebferre for a moment. “He came in last night asking if I thought Enjolras could be in love with our cynic.”

“I was asleep?”

He nodded and looked back up at Enjolras. “You do realise that Grantaire has loved you ever since he first saw you?”

If possible, Grantaire turned even redder. Enjolras just bowed.

“I realise I was a fool not to tell him.”

“What happened?” Combeferre asked, pulling Courfeyrac onto his bed and putting his arms around his waist. “Tell us everything, mes amis.”

Enjolras and Grantaire shared a look and, daringly, Grantaire stepped behind him and put his arms incredibly tenderly around Enjolras’s waist and stretched to rest his chin on his shoulder – exactly like he’d dreamed of doing for years. Courfeyrac gasped and leaned into Combeferre.

“You know we spoke yesterday,” Enjolras said quietly, grinning so much he almost cried because of how wonderful it felt to be held like this. “We spoke for hours and we walked in silence for hours. We ate and – and Joly and Bossuet asked some questions which – which hurt,” Enjolras leaned into Grantaire. “So I left. I’d admitted to them that I’m in love and it was too much so I left. Grantaire found me and I was crying. I hugged him – ”

“It was beautiful,” Grantaire whispered, grinning over at Courfeyrac. “I didn’t think he could be so lovely.”

Enjolras blushed a little and carried on talking. “So I told him. I told him and – and he loves me. Combeferre,” he spoke now as if Grantaire wasn’t there. “He loves me. He actually loves me.”

“I could have told you that a year ago,” Courfeyrac chuckled, looking and feeling like he might cry. “Silly Enjolras.”

“He made me stay the night,” Grantaire whispered, very daringly kissing Enjolras’s cheek and making him blush. “On his bed.”

Combeferre shrieked again and his eyes filled with tears. “Courf,” he breathed, “Enjolras is happy and in love.”

“These last few days have been miraculous,” Courfeyrac agreed, kissing his hand. “Apart from your romantic news, we have good medical news.”

Enjolras took Grantaire’s hands and grinned. “Really?”

“Really,” Combeferre grinned, wiggling his feet. “I’m getting better, not worse. I can keep my leg.”

“Excellent!” Enjolras bounced a little and Grantaire laughed. “Ferre, I’d kiss you but I’m loathe to leave Grantaire’s arms.”

Grantaire let go of him, laughing. “Go on. I’ll take you back when you’re ready.”

Enjolras wobbled forward and swept Courfeyrac out of the way, putting his arms around Combeferre and kissing his cheek. He whispered something that made Combeferre laugh and Courfeyrac looked over at Grantaire and grinned.

“What are you doing now?” Combeferre asked, releasing Enjolras. He moved straight back into Grantaire’s arms.

“Going to Grantaire’s,” Enjolras said, blushing a little. “We need time alone.”

Combeferre blinked and stared at them, eyes wide. “Enjolras, Grantaire, it is time we told you some things.”

“What like?”

“Firstly,” Courfeyrac said softly, “And I know you’ll already know this, but – but don’t be together outside.”

“Don’t hold hands,” Combeferre sighed. “Don’t kiss. Don’t – don’t lean into each other.”

“I know this,” Grantaire sighed. “I’ve known all my life that no one is going to accept this.”

“You can’t be alone together for long, either,” Courfeyrac muttered. “Not if people know you’re alone together.”

“People talk and that can lead to horrible things,” Combeferre said.

“You need to be careful when you are alone together,” Courfeyrac added. “This is serious. You mustn’t be loud. You mustn’t be anywhere around people. And you must be so careful –”

“We know, Courf,” Enjolras sighed, looking backwards at Grantaire. “We know it’s risky.”

“It’s nothing like with women,” Courfeyrac warned in barely a whisper. Enjolras had turned bright red but couldn’t deny that he had been thinking about this. Especially when he’d woken up early that morning. “Grantaire, you must be careful.”

“I know,” he sighed, hiding his face in Enjolras’s shoulder. “You know I’ll be gentle with him.”

Enjolras just bowed his head.

“Be careful,” Combeferre sighed. “I will be here for a while. So you know where to find us if you need anything.”

“Anything at all,” Courfeyrac affirmed, taking a deep breath. “It’s difficult but you’re not alone.”

“And, obviously,” Combeferre said with a smile, “You have no need to fear us. We’ll guard your secret as fiercely as our own.”

“Thank you, friends,” Enjolras said quietly. “I am so glad for you, Combeferre.”

He beamed. “And I you. I think they’ll let me walk soon. And then we can decide where we go from here.”

“What do you mean?”

“We can’t stay here for long – not now,” Courfeyrac pointed out. “People know us. People might report us. We should leave here and find somewhere new to live – ideally where we can all live together.”Go and

Enjolras nodded slowly. “I understand,” he whispered. “Here has rejected us.”

“We’ll find a place,” Combeferre promised, still smiling. “But don’t worry about that now. Until we’re all ready to move you must find as much time as you can for each other – you must learn to be with one another and to care for one another.”

Enjolras nodded again. “I care too much, I think I get angry.”

“I know,” Grantaire chuckled, tightening his arms ever so slightly and making Enjolras go light headed.

“I will be soft with you, Grantaire. I will be calm and gentle and I will listen.”

Grantaire closed his eyes and smiled, forgetting for a moment that they weren’t alone. “I love you, Enjolras,” he breathed. “I won’t upset you.”

“I will deserve your love,” Enjolras muttered, staring down at his hands where they held his waist. “I will deserve the right to call you mine.”

Courfeyrac swore again. “Please, leave,” he laughed, turning to face Combeferre. “You’re disgustingly in love and yes,” he laughed, “I’m so happy for you. But, please. Go and be in love somewhere you won’t make me cry.”

Enjolras laughed and stepped towards the door, pulling Grantaire with him. “You, Courf, cry?”

“Oh, he never cries,” Combeferre laughed, winking. “Never.”

“Unfair,” Courfeyrac cried, frowning at Combeferre and crossing his arms. “You are impossible.”

“We’ll see you soon,” Enjolras promised, taking a last long look at Grantaire before he released him. They weren’t sure how long it would take them to get back to Grantaire’s – but it would be more time than they could bear. They smiled at each other, said goodbye to their friends and left.

The walk took them over half an hour instead of the fifteen minutes it would have taken Grantaire on his own. Enjolras was feeling better but he still struggled to stay on his feet for long – and the warmth of the summer air made his head spin a little. He was too afraid to hold onto Grantaire, even though he really needed the support.

Grantaire was more than a little nervous. The flat he rented was not well suited to entertaining guests – not at the moment, anyway. He couldn’t quite remember the state of it but was sure it was going to be embarrassing.

So he ran in ahead of Enjolras, promising to be back soon. There were no other people nearby and, for that, they were both unspeakably relieved.

Grantaire cleared away some clothes and bottles and drew the curtains before opening the door and letting Enjolras in. “Forgive me,” he muttered, shrinking against the wall. “I do not much care for the state of my home.”

Enjolras laughed and tottered around, looking in each of the rooms. He found the bedroom and blushed, turning back to him. “You have nothing to apologise for, Grantaire,” he smiled. “It’s a nice home. It suits you.”

He wasn’t sure if that was a compliment.

“Where can I sit?” He asked after a moment, looking at Grantaire with tired eyes. The walk had maybe been too much.

“Anywhere,” Grantaire said, looking around for wherever might be suitable.

“Actually,” Enjolras muttered, running his hand through his hair to stop it from trembling. “I would like to lie down.”

“Okay,” Grantaire said quickly, stumbling slightly towards the bedroom door. “Here – here is the only space, really.”

“Brilliant,” Enjolras beamed, taking his hand rather suddenly. “Please come with me, Grantaire.”

“I – I should lock the door first,” he pointed out, pulling his hand free. It was as if the contact had burned them.

“Good idea,” Enjolras sighed, leaning into the doorframe and watching him go. Grantaire’s shirt was truly filthy now. He locked the door, took a deep breath and turned to face Enjolras. Each of them were more than a little nervous. “Grantaire,” Enjolras whispered, chest hurting. “Please come here.”

He shuffled forward, incredibly self-conscious. “Are you sure about this, Enjolras?"

He beamed and held his arms out to take Grantaire to his chest for a moment. "So sure," he whispered, holding Grantaire and feeling that he was shaking. "Trust me, Grantaire. I am happiest when I can feel your warmth."

"I hope so," Grantaire mumbled, frowning slightly. "I do love you, Enjolras. More than I can say."

"I love you too," Enjolras breathed, grinning. "Even though you make me so angry sometimes. And you've disappointed me in the past -"

"Never again," Grantaire vowed, remembering the few chances Enjolras had given him. "I won't disappoint you again."

Enjolras nodded, not sure what to say, and kissed his cheek. They were looking at each other then, standing impossibly close to one another and barely breathing. But Enjolras felt weak and stepped through the doorway, taking Grantaire's hands again.

"Just lie next to me," he muttered, choosing one side of the small bed and lying down slowly. "For a while."

"Anything," Grantaire breathed, lying beside him and wondering if he was dreaming. Enjolras closed his eyes and smiled over at him, pushing his face into the pillow and vaguely resembling a cat. Grantaire found himself grinning again. "You look beautiful," He whispered, hoping this wasn't too much.

Enjolras opened his eyes and beamed. "Really?"

"Really," Grantaire chuckled. "Like a sculpture of an angel."

"With a gash across their head."

"Yeah," He laughed some more. "Poor Enjolras. It is healing, though."

"Good," He closed his eyes again and wriggled closer to Grantaire. "Grantaire?"

"Yes?"

"Hold me, please," He whispered, stretching his hand out to touch his waist nervously. Grantaire smiled and kissed his forehead before gently lying his arm over Enjolras's chest and back.

"I've got you," He promised, kissing his forehead again. He was sure to mind the wound. "Thank you for letting me hold you."

Enjolras just sighed and tangled their legs together like he had done the night before. Grantaire heard himself gasp.

"I love you, Grantaire," Enjolras mumbled. "Through all this darkness and disappointment I still have you. I gained you."

"I was always yours," Grantaire whispered, stroking his back lightly. "Always."

"Stay mine. Stay mine until we die, Grantaire."

He cleared his throat. "I'm yours, Enjolras. My heart, soul and mind belong to you."

Enjolras opened his eyes suddenly and stared at him for a second. Then he moved his lips towards Grantaire's, checking every moment to see if this was okay. Of course it was. They kissed and it was warm and so much less afraid than all of the ones leading up to it. They pressed together, feeling each other's warth and grateful for the privacy of a locked apartment.

The kiss went on and neither of them wanted to stop. So they kissed until they were breathless and gasping, clinging onto each other. Their hearts seemed to be having a race.

"Grantaire," Enjolras panted, somehow with one of his hands in his hair. "Do that again."

Grantaire just laughed. "Do what?"

"Kiss me like that," Enjolras mumbled and opened his eyes slightly. "Please, Grantaire. That felt wonderful."

Lips already burning, Grantaire pressed them to Enjolras's and they both grinned. This parted their lips and did something unexpected to them that somehow ended up with Enjolras lying on top of Grantaire.

"Oh," he gasped, a little frown between his eyebrows. "Oh, Grantaire, I didn't mean that to happen. Sorry."

"Don't be," Grantaire gasped, keeping his eyes closed. Enjolras's weight upon him was more beautiful than he'd dreamed. "Oh, god," He gasped, kissing Enjolras's neck. He shuddered. "Was that okay?"

Enjolras moaned and kissed Grantaire's cheek. They were pressed firmly together. "Yes," he said,"Very."

Grantaire sighed happily and rubbed his thumbs into Enjolras's back. He made a funny little noise.

"Enjolras?"

"I've never -" He started, lips on Grantaire's neck. "Oh, Grantaire, I've never felt like this. Not really. Not - not seriously."

"What do you mean?"

Enjolras tried to say but, too embarrassed, just put a little pressure down through his hips into Grantaire.

He moaned suddenly and locked his jaw. "Enjolras," he hissed, "don't do that unless you mean it. It does things to me."

"What sort of things?"

He whimpered slightly. "Wild things."

He had to remind himself to be quiet. Enjolras kissed his neck and pushed into him again, clinging to the bed beneath him with both hands.

"Grantaire," He moaned, "Please."

"What do you want?" He asked, not daring to think. This was impossible.

"You, I want you - oh, god," His voice trembled and he breathed heavily. "Grantaire, please. This is new to me. I just know that if we aren't together I shall die."

Grantaire smiled and kissed his cheek. "You won't die, Enjoleas. But you may be uncomfortable."

"Help me do this," Enjolras asked, putting his weight through one of his knees. "Please, Grantaire. There's a burning inside of me and I need - I need you."

Grantaire got caught between a chuckle and a moan. "Oh, Enjolras. Kiss me again."

He needed no further prompting. He kiseed him and pushed to him, daring to move his tongue past the aafety of his own lips to touch Grantaire's. He gasped and stayed still for a moment. But he was desperate to feel more of Grantaire's skin and, impossibly, found himself unbuttoning Grantaire's shirt.

"Are you sure?" Grantaire asked, voice impressively steady. Enjolras just nodded, too busy tracing lines axross the muscles of Grantaire's torso. He hadn't expected such careful sculpture in such an unkempt man. Fingers burning, he pushed his hands down the sides of Grantaire's waist and closed his eyes.

Barely daring to breathe, Grantaire pushed Enjolras's bright waistcoat from his shoulders and let it drop to the floor. And then he undid the buttons of his shirt, hands shaking because he could see the perfect marble of his chest and it had tightened all of his muscles. He pushed the shirt from Enjolras's shoulders too, deciding that here was no point in doing this by halves.

"Your hands are warm," Enjolras muttered, eyes closed and face turned to the ceiling. His chest rose and fell in shaking breaths.

"Yours are freezing," Grantaire laughed. "Enjolras, how can you be so cold?"

His eyes opened and he looked, for a momrnt, devastated. "How do you mean?"

Grantaire realised his mistake and rolled his eyes, using his big warm hands to pull Enjolras down so they were touching again. "Silly," he breathed, drawing patterns on his skin. "I meant your physical temperature. Don't be upset."

Enjolras nodded, finding his plaxe in Grantaire's shoulder again. "Okay," he muttered, raising his head. "Grantaire, kiss me again."

He looked up at him, smiled, and took his face lightly in his hand. His fingers pushed into his hairline and he closed the space to kiss him, moving as slowly and tenderly as he could.

Enjolras was less careful. He kissed and pressed into him again, hands dancing up the sides of Grantaire's chest and finding some rather unlovely wounds. He didn't think about these. He just kissed him, desperate for the safety of his hands and arms.

"Enjolras," Grantaire muttered, lips still touching. "Have you done anything like this before?"

He shook his head, cheeks a little bright.

"When you say that -"

"I've never done anything," he emphasised,  holding him tightly. "Oh, Grantaire," he swore, "help me."

He just smiled and stroked his hair. "You're doing well," he breathed, "for someone who doesn't know what to do. You've stunned me."

Enjolras nuzzled into his neck again and took a deep breath. "You smell of wine," he whispered. "And of smoke and of warmth."

Grantaire chuckled, still stroking his hair. "Enjolras, are you okay?"

"I'm so confused," He laughed, thumbs pushing into Grantaiee's skin. "There are thoughts in my head which I have never really heard - things, Grantaire, which I am so afraid of."

He swallowed, thinking maybe he understood too well. "Tell me of them, Enjolras."

But, first, he shivered and clung to Grantaire, trying to soak up his warmth.

"Are you really cold?" He asked Enjolras, touching his hair softly. "Should you put your shirt back on?"

Enjolras shook his head sharply. "It's filthy," he whispered. "Could we - would you mind if I asked - is it okay -?"

"Enjolras," Grantaire laughed, "Get off of me for a moment."

He crawled away and stood up, wrapping his arms around his chest self consciously, to wait. Grantaire kept a smile on his face, although he was embarrassed, and got to his feet. He dropped his shirt to the floor with Enjolras's, showing his back and making Enjolras's blood freeze for a moment. It was bruised and scarred but unfairly toned and the muscles mirrored each other as they disappeared into his trousers. Enjolras stared.

But then Grantaire was moving the sheets back on the bed, clearing space for them to lie. He looked over at Enjolras and caught the stunned look on his face.

"Is this okay?"He asked, a little breathless. Enjolras blinked and nodded, glad the curtains were drawn together.

"I feel small," he laughed. "Grantaire, how are you so strong?"

The man shrugged and sat back down. "I keep busy," he muttered. "I run and dance and box and -"

"You dance?" Enjolras asked, one eyebrow raised as he moved to sit beside him again. "I am surprised."

"You thought all I did was drink?"

A pause. "Yes. I have judged you unfairly."

"Don't worry about it," Grantaire muttered, putting his arm around Enjolras's back and holding him to his chest. "Most people do."

"I never saw you past the wine," Enjolras mumbled. "I never looked close enough to see you past the bottle and the skepticism."

"It's okay, Enjolras," Grantaire promised. "But you really are cold -"

"I'm freezing," Enjolras laughed. "Your home is cold, Grantaire."

"I disagree," He chuckled, drawing the blankets up around Enjolras and holding him to his chest again. "I think it's just you."

"Well," Enjolras muttered, arms around Grantaire. "You shall have to hold me and warm me up."

Grantaire grinned. "I shall try," He breathed, kissing his hair. "Poor Enjolras."

He made a funny noise and pulled his feet back onto the bed, curling up and leaning heavily into Grantaire. Who decided it was reasonable to lie back and to cradle Enjolras onto his chest in a more tender way than before.

"Grantaire?" Enjolras whispered after a moment.

"Yes?"

"Is this okay?"

"What do you mean?"

"Is it okay that we - we are touching and kissing and in love? Is it okay that I'm half dressed and in your bed?"

Grantaire closed his eyes and held him more tightly and kissed his hair before speaking. "Is it what you want to be doing?"

"Yes," Enjolras said very quickly. "I want there to be nothig but you. Not for a few days. I need to escape from what I nearly did to you all -"

"Hush, Enjolras," Grantaire breathed, rubbing one of his arms. "Enjolras, it's okay. You have nothing to hide from."

"I do," He muttered. "I need to hide from the scenes in my head. I can see you all dying and - and there was so much blood and everyone was screaming and -"

"Enjolras," Grantaire said lowly. "Breathe, my lovely. It's over now."

He shook his head silently, hiding in Grantaire. He took a deep, shaky breath. "Promise you won't leave me, Grantaire."

"Oh, never," He kissed his forehead and frowned lightly. "I could never. I am with you, Enjolras. I am with you until the end."

"Until death?"

"And after it, through whatever may follow."

Enjolras breathed slowly and curled further into Grantaire, tying their legs together and moving down into his chest. His blood was still burning.

"Grantaire," He whispered after a while. "I'd like to be kissing you again."

"Then do," Grantaire breathed, surprised at how easily he'd said this. And he was even more surprised to feel Enjolras's hot breath and soft lips on his chest and shoulder and neck. He shuddered. "Enjolras, you are teasing me."

"Nonsense," He whispered against Grantaire's jaw. "I have no idea how to."

"I don't think I believe that," Grantaire whimpered, stretching his neck and gasping. "Enjolras!"

"Direct me," Enjolras muttered, pushing against him again. "Guide me. Tell me what to do, Grantaire."

Grantaire took a shaky breath and moved him so he was lying on the bed, facing him. "First," He managed, "We have to make some things clear. I love you and desire you."

"And I you," Enjolras whispered. "Please, help me navigate this. I have such strong feelings for you and I don't know what to do about it."

"You have to tell me what you want," Grantaire laughed. "What are your feelings?"

"Strong. Warm - hot. Sharp and numbing. My heart won't be calm. My head runs away from me. I need - I need to feel you and to hear you. Your breathing and your voice."

Grantaire closed his eyes and smiled. "Poor Enjolras. I have been familiar with desire for some years. Never as strong as when I look at you, but I have done this. I can help you if you promise to talk and tell me what you like and don't like."

Enjolras whimpered and kissed his jaw, liking how red it made Grantaire's lips. "Do with me what you'd like," He muttered, hands trailing up to his chest." And I will tell you how I feel."

"Are you sure?"

He moaned and kissed Grantaire again, pressing to him and taking handfuls of the bed again. Their tongues touched and Enjolras thought it couldn't get any better.

But it did. Grantaire put his hands lightly on his hips and pulled him closer, moving so Enjolras's knees were betwen his. They were pushed together, barely a gap betwen them, and Enjolras definitely didn't feel cold any more.

"Grantaire," he whispered. "I love you."

Grantaire grinned and kissed him lightly. "I love you more."

Enjolras felt his skin flame bright red and he gasped, "prove it."

So Grantaire did.

He sat them up again, legs still around Enjolras, and pushed him back so he was supported in his arms. Enjolras tried to hold himself like that for a while but his muscles weren't that strong - he ended up putting his whole weight into Grantaire's strength and felt strange things throughout his core. Grantaire supported his head in one hand and his other wrapped around his back, holding him inches from the bed. And he kissed him, taking all of the breath from Enjolras's chest. He groaned, hands clawing at Grantaire's back.

He couldn't speak but he was desperate to tell Grantaire that this didn't prove his love - just his strength. But it was incredibly wonderful to be held like this.

And then Grantaire moved them again and lifted Enjolras,moving onto his knees and raising them so they were sitting straight up. Enjolras gasped and Grantaire kissed his neck, keeping one hand in his hair to make sure Enjolras's head was supported. He appreciated that becauit was difficult to breathe, never mind anything else.

"Grantaire," He gasped, trying desperately to relax his hands. He was afraid he was going to draw blood. "Grantaire, you're too much."

Grantaire stopped and let him relax for a moment, keeping his arms around him supportively. He kissed his cheek lightly and just stared at him.

"What?"

"You are beautiful, you know."

"Hardly."

"You have no idea," Grantaire laughed. "You are a star from heaven itself. You warm me."

Enjolras grinned and, somehow, got his legs around Grantaire so he was sitting on his lap. Like this, he could feel every of his curves.

"Grantaire, I never want to let go of you. You are warmth," He illustrated by showing him how much his hands had warmed up. "You are my light now."

Grantaire suddenly looked sad and hung his head.

"What's wrong?"

"You are and always have been my only light. My world is a winter night but you are the high summer sun, lighting and warming everything you touch."

"I didn't know you lived in so many shadows," Enjolras muttered, stroking the back of his hair. "My poor Grantaire. I wish I had known."

"Would you have treated me differently?"

"Yes," Enjolras said quickly, raising Grantaire's eyes. "I'd have been gentler with you. And I'd have known that you didn't mean to be so pessimistic."

"I try, Enjolras," He sighed. "I want to be enthusiastic like you."

He shook his head. "I have lost my enthusiasm for everything except you."

"Enjolras -"

"No," He silenced him with a kiss. "Don't worry. I just can't think about it all yet. I need you to help me rebuild me - so I can learn to care about you properly."

"Enjolras -"

"No," He laughed and kissed him again. "We can talk about it tomorrow. Let me just think about me and you for today. Now we have a locked door," He winked. "I can relax with you."

Grantaire took a deep breath and nodded. "I'd like that."

Enjolras got comfy again, still sitting on Grantaire but putting more of his weight through his legs. His arms were around Grantaire's shoulders and they sat there for a moment to grin at each other.

Eventually, Grantaire spoke. "Can I kiss you again?"

Enjolras laughed freely and kissed him, closing his eyes. Hr could feel Grantaire smiling underneath his lips and it made him tremble.

Grantaire gasped. "Enjolras," he muttered, "Are you sure you're not teasing me?"

"It depends," Enjolras breathed, moving his hands down his bsck again. "Would you like that?"

Grantaire's heart missed several beats. He just stared at him and considered everything.

"I think I would," He admitted. "But I think you would benefit from being teased the most."

Enjolras was absolutely radiant. "And why's that?" He asked, kissing Grantaire's jaw.

"Because you, my beautiful angel, are virtuous. To corrupt another you need to be taught corruption."

Enjolras groaned. "You mean I'm too innocent?" Grantaire nodded. "Fine," Enjolras hissed, "show me what to do. Show me how to lose this innocence and keep me close, Grantaire - I am going to be nervous."

Grantaire just smiled and stroked Enjolras's hair back from his forehead, being very careful with the wound. And then his fingertips trailed down his back, found the sheets again, and pushed him suddenly down onto the bed. Enjolras gasped and grabbed at Grantaire's arms.

He swore and closed his eyes, feeling his skin burn into a sweat. Grantaire was being very careful and lay over him, barely touching. He touched a line down the side of Enjolras's face first with a feather-light fingertip and then with his lips. And then he trailed these down his neck, explored his shoulder and chest and disappeared down to his waist.

Enjolras found that he was already panting. He could barely breathe because Grantaire was everywhere and so gentle - almost too gentle. His lips seemed to graze Enjolras's skin and he wanted them to slice him.

Grantaire stopped suddenly and loomed over him, grinning. "How was that?" He asked, genuinely wondering how Enjolras would respond to these things.

Enjolras couldn't speak for a moment. "Too gentle," He muttered, making Grantaire grin even more. "Don't be that gentle."

Grantaire just sniggered and kisser his other cheek, dancing his lips so close to Enjolras's that he could almost taste them. But he moved away, still being incredibly soft. This time, he peaked by lightly brushing his hand over the front of Enjolras's trousers, making them both tremble and chew back gasps.

"Was that okay?" Grantaire asked, lightly kissing Enjolras's chest.

Enjolras shook his head and managed to gasp, "too gentle" before chewing his lip. Grantaire's touch was tantalising and Enjolras now realised what Grantaire had meant by teasing: not quite giving enough.

Grantaire was having fun. He stepped it up by very slowly undoing the front of Enjolras's trousers - Enjolras moaned - and then by pulling them away just enough for Enjolras to feel unfairly exposed.

"Grantaire," He gasped. "You have to be equally dressed."

"That's fair," he agreed, stopping for a moment to sit up. He was going to do his trousers himself but Enjolras's hands beat him there and he couldn't miss the opportunity to be touched like this by Enjolras.

His hands were trembling and he wasn't sure if he should be looking or not so he stared at Grantaire's chest. He struggled but managed it,feeling butterflies swirling in his stomach and brain.

And then Grantaire took his face lightly in his hands and tilted it up so they could kiss again.  it was a deep, warm kiss and Enjolras was, again, desperate to be closer to him. He wrapped his arms around Grantaire's back and pulled him down again, holding his breath. Grantaire grinned.

"Okay," He muttered, supporting himself on either side of Enjolras's chest. "Tell me how you're feeling."

Enjolras breathed heavily for a moment. "Like you're not quite touching me," he whimpered, hands tight in his back again. "Please don't do this for too long."

Grantaire smiled gently. "Okay, mon amour. Tell me when you've had enough and I'll stop."

"Not stop," Enjolras muttered. "Just stop teasing me - just get to it," He giggled, a little embarrassed. "I'm learning quickly."

Grantaire kissed him, glad that he was talking about this. He was so afraid of doing something wrong and upsetting Enjolras.

But he continued, kissing Enjolras and letting one of his hands trail down the front of his body. They were, again, grateful for the locked door. Enjolras hissed and pushed into his hand, his eyes closed tight. But Grantaire was still being too gentle and he was at the edge of something. His back was tight and every now and then his hand jumped, twitching without his permission. He gasped very loudly and grabbed Grantaire's hips.

"Grantaire," He moaned, pulling him to him. "Grantaire -"

"Enough?" He asked, kissing his chest and squinting. Some dark marks were starting to blossom across Enjolras's pale skin and he was more than a little embarrassed. "Oh," He muttered, touching them lightly with his fingertips. "Enjolras, I'm sorry."

"What?" He'd just caught his breath and, seeing Grantaire's face, panicked. "Grantaire?"

"I bruised you," He muttered, backing away slightly. "I'm sorry."

But Enjolras was grinning and trying to see. He found one on his shoulder and, confusing Grantaire, giggled.

"Oh dear," He muttered, squinting at it. "Now I understand Combeferre's."

"You aren't upset?"

"No!" He laughed and pulled Grantaire down again, kissing his cheek and turning him so he was lying on the bed. "But we should match."

Grantaire smiled nervously. "Are you sure?"

"Let me try," Enjolras whispered, eyes and lips unfairly bright. "Let me try. Because that felt amazing and I want you to feel that, too."

Grantaire chuckled and kissed his nose. "Oh, Enjolras. You still have much to learn, mon amour."

Enjolras grinned at him and kissed him again, thinking how much he liked being taught by Grantaire. His muscles were burning as if he'd been running and he loved it.

Softly, he moved Grantaire to lie on his back and curled over him. Their legs tangled again, it was easy for him to reach across Grantaire's shoulders and chest and to copy what he had done – kissing him and biting his skin because it tasted so lovely. He could feel Grantaire’s heartbeat racing under his finger tips.

“I think, “He said after a while, sitting up and taking a shuddering breath. “We should stop there.”

Grantaire just smiled up at him, more than a little breathless. “Can you feel it pulsing in your head?”

“Feel what?”

“Your blood. Your cheeks are on fire,” Grantaire whispered, lifting his hand to touch one of the bright cheeks. “Your eyes are huge. Your skin is wet.”

“I can barely breathe,” Enjolras admitted, laughing and leaning into Grantaire’s hand. “Grantaire, I think I need to sleep for a little while.”

Grantaire grinned and stroked his hand down the side of Enjolras’s bruised neck to gently hold the back of his shoulder and pull him back down. Enjolras curled straight into him, breathing the scent of his bare skin and closing his eyes.

“Sleep, Enjolras,” Grantaire said in an incredibly soft voice. Hidden in his chest, Enjolras grinned. “Sleep and I’ll still be here when you wake. Sleep and dream of freedom and happiness. Think about all the good things in the world and, when you wake, we’ll talk about them. We’ll talk and talk and I’ll listen to you talking about things you love and you’ll be happy again, Enjolras.” He was very aware that he was rambling but his voice was warm in the room. The summer sun was high in the sky but, with the curtains drawn, the room was quite dark. Enjolras had already fallen asleep. “You don’t have to worry about what your friends think of you. They all love you. We all love you. I can’t believe you’re here – cuddled up to me like that. You are an angel, Enjolras, and I am a sinner. I should be surrounded by devils like me but it’s just you and I – my angel of light and hope. Enjolras, you’re perfect to me and have been forever.”

Quite a while later Enjolras woke and his eyes fell straight onto Grantaire. He’d stayed awake, playing with Enjolras’s hair and just thinking about everything. The world was much wider than Grantaire had ever thought and, with Enjolras, they could go anywhere. They could do anything.

“Hello,” Enjolras whispered, blinking at him. “I feel better.”

“Hello,” Grantaire grinned. “I’m glad.”

“Talk to me, Grantaire,” Enjolras leaned on one elbow and looked at him. “Tell me wonderful things.”


End file.
